


Hymn to the Mountain

by Deputy Buck (annoying_kuriboh)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Crossover, Dad Arthur, Hurt Arthur Morgan, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Whump, Zombies, hurt sebastian castellanos, isaac lives au, sex worker Sebastian Castellanos, some smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2020-10-30 03:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 82,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20807618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annoying_kuriboh/pseuds/Deputy%20Buck
Summary: When Isaac survives the robbery that murdered his mother he's taken into the Van Der Linde Gang, but life as an outlaw isn't easy, for either son or father. When Arthur gets shot protecting his son, a stranger by the name of Sebastian Castellanos helps Arthur to a doctor and a place to rest. But Sebastian has a few secrets of his own, and there's something taking root.





	1. Dirty Bones

“Com’ere, Isaac.”

The boy approaches with cautious step, as if the downed buck could still charge at him. He ain’t ever been on a hunt before.

“Gonna teach you how to skin a deer.”

He waits for Isaac to come next to him; a hand tucks the hair behind the boy’s ear. It’s a messy clump of brown hair, growing in all directions. He should cut it again soon. His son’s hand is small into his own as he passes the knife to him.

“Grip it firm.” Palm squeezes around the handle; Arthur’s follows. Isaac’s arm is stiff, hard to put into motion but he eases off soon enough. “You start at the belly.” Knife pressed harshly into the animal, only deep enough to pierce just the skin. “Slice it all the way up.” Motions follow. “Then you peel away at the skin with one hand.” Arthur demonstrates. “Yank hard.” And the pelt comes right off. “Help ye’rself with the knife.” The tip almost gracefully cuts the thin film holding the flesh and skin together.

Isaac was 12 or so back then. Never left his side since. Wherever Arthur went his son came with him. Exception made the _official business_, as Dutch gracefully called it. He can’t take a 16-year-old robbin’, killin’ or just put him in any sort of vicinity to a goddamn gunfight.

Arthur ain’t got what it took to lose the kid too.

Isaac knows how to shoot. He taught him himself. He saw him using a gun; he’s got a revolver of his own.

Part of him is still scared, that kid ain’t gonna run away when he oughotta.

Some O’Driscolls caught them at a bridge, once. He told the kid to stay back; got off his horse, surrendered. Shot the man’s face just a moment later. Then the discharge of a revolver from behind and a thug grippin’ his shoulder in pain. Arthur put a bullet in the man’s skull just a moment later. Then ran out to get the rest as well. Isaac did good. Stood stiff, fear in his eyes, but he did good.

_Then Blackwater..._

Thank Christ Al’Mighty Isaac was with him away from that boat ‘cause if he got caught in that mess back there, he wouldn’t of made it out alive...

Then into the cold. He took the boy with him huntin’, with Charles. Isaac was more skilled with a bow than he thought he’s ever oughtta be; Charles insisted he use one himself. Arthur did; they barely scrapped two kills, then boy schooled him on the ins and outs of the bow ever since.

Arthur took him everywhere he went.

They went hunting and fishing by the Lannahechee river, not that Arthur was a particularly good fisherman, but the camp needed its food and it was just some more time spent with his kid. The pelts they were gonna sell in Saint Denis for cash and bring that back to the camp too. It should have been peaceful.

Had it not been for those goddamn Lemoyne Raiders, shouting out who they were like the name meant anything and they weren’t just a bunch of low lives. They got them off the horses as if they weren’t allowed in the city. Isaac, the stern thing, howled back at them. Pistols out.

He barely had enough time to wrap his body around Isaac before bullets start pouring. He feels them lodge in his back, shoulder. He drags the boy next to a rock by the bridge’s edge; Isaac is shrieking enraged, trying to take shots.

“Head down, boy!”

As he rests against the rock it’s already hard to breathe, pain siphoning into his ribs. Isaac takes the riffle off his back as Arthur took the repeater. It’s sloppy shots from his son, downing the enemy by power not finesse, multiple bullets to the chest. Whenever the gun rebounds muscles ache. He needs to get to a doctor- soon... Isaac ain’t supposed to see this. _Isaac ain’t supposed to be here._ Arthur aims for the head, the neck. One more. One more-

The last standing body falls down. The swamp goes quiet.

Arthur takes out the breath he’s been holdin’ in for the next reload.

_Christ._ A hand swats at the wounded shoulder, prods in to check how deep’s the wound. He knows Isaac’s watching as he grimaces and retracts a blood-stained finger.

“Pa...” Kid’s breathing heavier than he is. “Y-you got shot.”

It wasn’t the first time he got shot... Isaac just didn’t remember. Wasn’t with him. There was a ‘_I’m sorry_’ that bubbles up in his throat, but he can’t put it on the kid to take care of him. Isaac ain’t needin’ to carry his foolishness.

“I’ll live.” He tries that chuckle, but it don’t come out right; he’ll just lean against this rock and wait for the pain to even out before he gets up. The horses scurried off to the trees lining the path.

“I’ll go get help.” Isaac stands up-

Hand grips the thin arm: “No.” A stern grunt, then a heave, and up Arthur goes, voice mellowed: “What am I gonna do if I ain’t got you to fend my back?”

Isaac’s mouth hung open, then his whole face scrunched up in some kind of shame he ain’t meant to bear. Oh, Isaac...

The boy whistles and the horses come running.

Arthur wastes no time getting up in the saddle. Bones shouldn’t ache when doing that, but so they do and there comes a puff of air to help bear the pain.

“C-Can you ride?...”

“Sure.” Overconfident and with a smile, while his back’s arched too forward. “Ain’t a few bullets gonna kill me.”

“It killed them...”

And Arthur ain’t no hero...

But he ain’t about to let the kid with no family.

There’s a doctor in St. Denis; they just gotta find out where, and that before he collapses of bloodloss- and they got told; and it’s right on the opposite side of town, next the church. He’s gotta make it till there; but his muscles hurt too much to tense and keep ‘im in saddle when he tries spurring his mare to a gallop-

_Christ!_

“_PA!_”

He tumbles down and wheezes, huffing through the agony, rolling on the pavement. A wagon all but ran him over. Then he’s strung up and it’s not his son’s arms that do so.

“C’mon I’ll get you to a doctor.” A low, gravelly voice. He could feel the breath fawn over his neck; smells of whiskey. “Not long now.”

The man dragged him along half the city. He didn’t get a good look at him, but he could still eye Isaac manning the horses just a bit behind them, all worried. He was brought into the doctor’s office and uncomfortably sat somehow sideways in the chair as the bullets were to be pulled out.

The man dragged Isaac out when he wanted to get in by his side.

_Thank you._ The boy ain’t meant to see him like that, ‘cause he screamed; ‘course he did. Biting his lips worked only up to a point: until they bled and that pain almost confounded with every other pain he’s feeling. He asked for a gag, mister doctor ain’t got any. Groaning and moaning it seemed to be ‘till the end then. Alcohol, sutures, agony and 20 dollars later he was free to stumble out.

Isaac wrapped his arms around his waist the moment he was out the door.

“Mister...” There the stranger still was, leaned against the wall, hat tipped over his face. Arthur gripped the doorframe. “Why you still here?”

“Wanna see you and the boy safely off.”

“_Why._”

Man scowls, walks briskly away, offended.

Isaac places an almost delicate punch beneath his ribs:

“Ain’t you even gonna ask the mister’s name?”

“Sebastian. Castellanos.” The man stopped in the doorframe.

“Arthur Morgan.”

“Isaac.” _Morgan._

“Thank you.” Arthur says just after.

Sebastian turned towards them again: “You think you can ride?”

“Sure~” Sarcastic, as if it ain’t already obvious he’s in no condition to ride. “I can’t, mister...” His back is throbbing; each breath comes ragged, with a wheeze as if he’s losing air somewhere else as well.

“Where’d you live?”

“Near Catfish Jackson.” Isaac said in a beat; kid knew how to lie too well and he ain’t proud of that... “Too far away.”

“I live near here, if it’s any comfort.” Sebastian said, opening the door for them to exist.

“Well, ain’t you a do-gooder, mister Sebastian.” Arthur stepped out, Isaac at his side.

“And ain’t you a little too loving to let your son watch you die.”

His kid again... What was it with this one and his fatherhood?-

“What does that have to do with anything?” Isaac sneered in his stead.

And Sebastian wasn’t rancid to the kid no matter how much venom Isaac put in his words:

“It’s ’cause I lost my child, boy.”

“I’m sorry...” Arthur blurted out not a moment later; chest’s a cage. Ain’t they all having a hard time... Christ the world’s turned wicked to have to kill a kid. He took a few steps in Sebastian’s direction; hand plunged in the satchel for money. He ain’t even caring how many he grabs to give the man. “Can you show us the place?” He shoves the money in the other man’s hand.

“No.” Sebastian crumbles the bills back in Arthur’s fist. “Come after me.” A step away, then back to the injured man: “Need any help?’

Arthur tried walking alone, more like limp his way to the place Sebastian was leading them to. Each breath he took was sharp, stinging, leaving his back and lungs to burn in its wake. He felt temperature rise in his cheeks and temples. He’s going to come down with a fever, and if he does he ain’t gonna be able to get out of the damned bed.

But he’s needin’ one. And they can’t have this man follow them back to camp-

Arthur stops, puts and hand in front of Isaac, tailing right behind him. That was a Molly-house. You could tell by the scantily clad women there.

“You one of them fancy boys?” he asks Sebastian. “A dandy?”

“It’s where I live.” A growl. No further questioning.

And still Arthur went along with it. Fortunately for the kid the place ain’t looking like a whore house downstairs, although one could clearly hear the commotion from above. Sebastian helped him with the stairs, even if he ain’t asked for the damn thing; they went down, in a sheltered room down a corridor. It was quite cool and the air ain’t as muggy down there unlike all of St. Denis. Arthur got laid into bed.

“Well you take a rest. And tell me if you need anything.” Sebastian said.

“Sure-” laying down hurt; but it ain’t so bad as long as Isaac’s still by him.

Soon enough, after quite the silence from all of them, Sebastian got called upstairs. So he was a dandy, or definitely a sportsman. Well, he means man ain’t bad looking, but he’s looking rather old to be the galivanting type. And he’s seen that one. Cowboys and outlaws had their way of finding themselves in places such like this; fairies they called it. But it ain’t all men here.

Isaac fell asleep between his arms, curled in a ball. Arthur didn’t; pain kept him from it. Part of him feared of wheezing too hard and waking the boy up. He’d much rather feel like suffocating under the weight of his own throbbing back than have the kid worry over him.

His mind ain’t all here; cause he should really be thinking clearly about it all. There’s something here that feels unfit; a whore man saved their life for all they know, and refused money. Smells like he’s after something-

And there he was, comes downstairs with thuds, takes a look at the sleeping kid. Arthur tugs him just a lil’ bit closer. Man is dressed in really fancy clothes: a frockcoat, a pristine tie, new pants. And black hair’s slicked back with pomade, making it look shiny.

“How are you feeling?”

Was it attraction?-

Sebastian lays down a canteen of water, whiskey and some canned beef with a bread roll.

“Guess it’ll be fever, but otherwise fine. I’ll pull through...” A deep breath in. “You sure you don’t want the money?” _You look like you need it-_ No, that ain’t it... “You still saved my life back there.” And for some godforsaken reason he’s still giving...

It can’t all be ‘cause of the kid... Or is it just some weird attempt at trying to set things from the past straight, redeem oneself somehow, through some act... If only it was to be that easy... Arthur ain’t redeemed just ‘cause he took in Isaac and tried to raise him. He ain’t done a good job at it neither.

“I can’t take it-” Sebastian was resolute.

“Not even if I were to pay for your, urhm... services?...”

That makes him laugh: “You ain’t in no condition for _my services_, Mister Morgan.”

A dry laughter: “At least lemme’ take you out huntin’.”

“Right now?” Sassy goddamn bastard o’course not _right now._ The man relishes in the groan Arthur gives, but he ain’t about to just give up:

“Then at least a whiskey-” Arthur insists, reaching his hand over to the bottle of whiskey Sebastian just brought in.

“Sure- But hunting’s soundin’ fine either way. You just get yourself on ye’r feet. For the kid’s sake.”

“What happened to yours?” Arthur just got blunt, passing the flask over.

Sebastian looked at him, then at the bottle, put it to his mouth and downed at least half of it in one go.

“Some men kidnapped her. Men I knew. Things got worse; I got here. Ain’t nothing more to it...”

The bottle’s passed down to Arthur. He ain’t daring taking a sip:

“Why this?... I mean there’s other ways of makin’ money. Outlawing-”

A cocked brow in reply: “Are you an outlaw, Mister Morgan?”

“Would it make any difference...”

“Only in making the Raiders territorial.”

“Goddamn Lemoyne Raiders...”

“So an outlaw.”

“Ain’t it obvious...” Arthur turned his head to the side, sighed, if only it wasn’t interrupted by a sharp jolt of pain in his chest.

“Ain’t it hard thou- raising a son an outlaw...”

“Ma’ Daddy was an outlaw.” Arthur all but spits. “Dragged me everywhere doing his wretched things. Then I watched ‘im swing.” A groan, tugging Isaac even closer to him; the boy still slept. “And I wish it would of happened sooner...”

Sebastian nods at that, says nothing more.

“I tried givin’ him more than I had. A life away from all this.”

“Ain’t we all wishing the same thing.” Sebastian scoffs.

“Then why not take the money-”

“ ‘Cause I almost got it all I need. Just a few more from a rich customer and-... Yeah.”

“You sound like someone I know...” Silence for a moment as they pondered the truth of what they just said; and it ain’t cause they’re lacking the money, but it’s something about this life that keeps pullin’ them in. “But I think we both know that’s not where it ends.”

“Ain’t thought I’m gonna get philosophy lessons from an injured outlaw...” and those words, that might of sounded mocking in other tones, now just sounded heartbroken. Then harsh: “You don’t _know me._”

“It ain’t about that- It’s-” a wheezed sigh. “I guess it’s ‘cause I keep lyin’ to myself.” And he dragged Isaac into it, just ‘cause Arthur ain’t knowin’ how to put an end to all this mess.

“Then don’t. I _will_ get out. On my terms. And maybe I shouldn’t have saved ye’r ass back there and left the kid an orphan.” Up and away Sebastian went.

Yet somehow Arthur was still in his basement, with food and water...


	2. Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The promised hunting trip.

“Good morning.” Arthur tipped his hat off his head.  
It’s been a couple of weeks; the wounds got better. And he hasn’t seen Sebastian since he left the next day after their meeting; fever or not, he felt like an intruder. They sold the pelts, returned to camp and Miss Grimshaw scolded him harshly for the entire thing – that let alone that Dutch ain’t really spoke kindly to him after that. Hosea tried, but that ain’t the point.  
He got the kid in danger. And he apologized to Isaac. Boy was real forgiving, but he cried. With sobs, into his arms, just a bit away from the camp.  
They gave him chores with that kid Kieran around camp to keep him busy while his idiot father convalesced, down with high fever.  
Even now it’s still sore, but the pain drowned enough that he’s functional again. He should be seeing Hosea and Sean out at the Braithwaite manor, but instead he decided to take a lil’ detour to St. Denis. It ain’t far. Isaac ain’t with him.

And he found Sebastian.  
“Mornin’...” Sebastian replies, just a tad confused. He was smoking a cigarette by the saloon he’s been dragged inside for healing. “What you doing here?”  
“Said I be taking you huntin’ sometime. You got the time?”  
Lips open in an odd smirk, head cocked slightly to the side; a long draw from the cigarette after which it’s thrown onto the pavement: “Not right now. How about tonight?”  
“Whatever suits you.”  
“Good...” Sebastian eyes the man from across the street; Arthur can’t help take a peek at it: an older gentleman, long, greying sideburns. Christ... Without warning the man walks past him to meet what must have been a client. And what comes out of his mouth is low, raspy, stinking of alcohol, and just for Arthur’s ears: “Thought I wasn’t gonna see you no more.” Then a bit louder: “I did buy whiskey off those money, you know. A whole heap o’it.”  
Another crooked smile on thin lips and he was off. Arthur scratches the back of his neck, places his hat right back on again. Yeah, he left Sebastian 50$ worth of money and wrote simply on a paper: ‘for whiskey.’  
Guess they’ll see each other tonight.  
After he’s done burning the Gray’s tobacco fields as that Braithwaite woman requested of them.  
And what a pain that was, ‘cause the whole goddamn plantation teaming with guards woke up and started shooting at them. He’s thinkin’ he burned the horse he rode out of there. Sean was all a giggle at the end; asked him if he comes back.  
No. He’s gotta see someone, and he told Isaac to meet him by the train station in Rhodes.

Boy was half asleep on Big Sir, a brute of a horse, a Shire, whose full name was Sir Lancelot ‘cause the kid read Knights of the Round Table over and over. King Arthur seemed to be his favorite character of the lot: talked to Abigail and Mary-Beth about it with; told him too, but Arthur ain’t knowin’ how to feel about it all. He tried though; listened to him thorough, nodded along, asked questions when he could. And that was still long ago; back when they first started going hunting together.  
And Arthur didn’t really have the heart to wake him up.  
He tries to urge Big Sir to follow with a whistle, but Isaac jerks right awake.  
“Sorry ‘bout that.” Arthur tries.  
“What are we doin’, Pa?”  
“Ah... Meeting up with a friend. Remember Sebastian?”  
“The man who saved you?”  
“Yeah. I owe him for that. So I thought I’d take’im huntin’. And I thought you might want to come along.”  
“I guess...”  
Arthur never really stopped to ask what he was dragging the kid into.  
“You can head back to camp whenever you feel like it, kid...” Arthur turned his head to give a smile.  
“That’s... not it.”  
“You wanna tell me what’s it about then?” not accusing.  
“I don’t know. I... I- I couldn’t help it. There was moaning in that house. Was it-”  
“Yeah it was.”  
“... Is that why you-”  
“No...” Well he ain’t thought of it like that. He ain’t thought clearly at all back then and now... “Well I- I don’t know, son.”  
“Is that why you’re taking me with you?”  
Maybe it really was... reassurance. He ain’t a kid no more but he’s needin’ some too from time to time. He still shouldn’t burden the boy with it, but...  
“Yeah... You’re always with me.” Another smile.  
Isaac is a treasure; all the remaining way to St. Denis they muttered songs. It kept the animals and strangers away in a sense, and it ain’t all feeling as heavy.

“Look who decided to finally show up.” Under a lamp post, alone, with a black horse and a riffle on his back, fancy clothes gone, hair unmade, missing the pomade, Sebastian stood, smoking a cigarette with long drags.  
“You really did wait for me.” It was well past midnight and in truth who was to go hunting in the dead of night with a man you met only once.  
“You said you were takin’ me hunting.” Sebastian mounts up.  
“I am. Any huntin’ spots you wanna try out on this particularly fine evening.” Arthur turns his horse around.  
“There’s an old battlefield not far from here. There’s always deer there.”  
“You like hunting?” Isaac asked.  
“A little bit.”  
“We go hunting a lot.” The boy continued. “We use the pelts. To make clothes and saddles and bags. Maybe you can make something for yourself, mister.”  
Arthur stood quiet. Sebastian did so for quite some time as well.  
“Well I had my eyes on a sturdy deer vest for a while now.”  
“I’m really good at skinning animals, you know.” Isaac continues; the lights of the city dim behind them as they near the bridges heading towards the bayou.  
Sebastian throws him a look.  
“He really is.” Arthur encourages. “And better with a bow than I am.”  
“You’re hunting with the bow tonight, Pa.”  
“Don’t put me through that Isaac...” a defeated huff. “Of course.”  
“Just my luck then. I’d say I’m decent with a bow.” Sebastian cut into the conversation.  
Another look back at the man; was it just him or is the man standing too stiff in the saddle; not that Arthur’s any good a horseman, but- Maybe that’s just how he rode.  
It really ain’t been long till they reach what looks like the remnants of a battlefield. The clouds pushed away, making room for the moon, almost full, to shine through. Place is deserted and looks filled with junk just waitin’ to impale them.  
Huh... Impale...  
“This the place?” Arthur asks.  
“Yeah-”  
“Then let’s see if we can pick up some tracks.” Isaac interrupts.  
But there was little need for actual tracking. Just a bit further ahead, by an abandoned, collapsed in church a few does were grazing. They should try taking them down from a distance, but they were still too far away for that.  
Isaac really did hand Sebastian the bow and Arthur was to hunt with his own; they let the boy man the horses, while they’d be sneaking just a bit closer in. The dark made it difficult to get a clean shot from here. Grass rustled under their feet, their step was light, even if with each of Sebastian’s came a huff. He ain’t noticed it at first, then wondered if it was ‘cause he was getting old, but man couldn’t of been much older than himself. Or maybe they were already elders at the ripe age of 35.  
A smile flashes on his lips and Sebastian almost asks him what that was about, but Arthur just places a finger to his own mouth: sh. The deer.  
They steadily get up, drawing their bows as they went; thou in all fairness Arthur’s more mimicking Sebastian at this point. Seems this man’s got a few secrets by him.  
“On three.” Sebastian whispers.   
“I get the one on the right.” Arthur replied and the man nodded.  
“One.”  
They take aim. The head. The neck. A deep inhale drawn in.  
“Two.”  
The cord is tensed, breath released. Muscles tremble under the pressure of the draw.  
“Three-” Arthur mutters on the exhale; the arrow flies out of the bow.  
The deer look up, briefly hearing the whiz of the arrow just before it pierces their necks. Almost perfect unison.  
“Nice shooting.”  
“Thanks for taking the lead-” Is that mockery.  
“I mean it with the shooting.” Arthur tried to defend.  
“You did good too.” They started making their way over the crumbled fences and other debris. “For someone who claims they can’t shoot a bow.” He saw that smile.  
“Now, I ain’t sure if you’re insulting me or...”  
“I’ll let you decide on that.”  
A scoff from Arthur; a snort from Sebastian, as if he’d want to laugh. Their steps got loud. Wind rustled through the trees lining the field. A bell rang like a rumble from the tower of that collapsed church not too far away. There was some boars squealing somewhere near – probably ran off.  
Now to skin the deer. Arthur gets down to collect the arrows.  
“You hear that?” Sebastian lowered his voice. “Shit!-”  
Arthur ain’t got time to respond. Tusks first a boar found its way towards them. Or maybe it was the whole gang of them. But Arthur feels just one. A tusk in his side. He grabs on to the head. Not a smart move. The animal drags him along. He lets go. Hooves press harshly into his torso before jumping off of him.  
A glance: Sebastian was some way ahead, leaning on one of the destroyed fences.  
And the boar wants to come for seconds.  
He ain’t ever thought he’d die gored by a boar of all things.  
A gunshot.  
It still charges, but falls down a few steps in, snout in the soft ground. A muffled squeal.  
“Pa?...” Isaac gets down from Big Sir with a riffle in his arms. “You a’right?”  
Sebastian came to help him up: “C’mon up!”  
“Yeah...” A cough. The boars took even the goddamn breath from him.   
A wheeze as he’s strung up-  
Only to stumbled backwards as Sebastian jerks away, grimacing, in pain.  
Both Isaac and Arthur are at his side at once:  
“You a’right there?”  
“Ah. It’s nothing. Pulled a muscle today.” Sebastian responds, but it sounds almost like a growl. “You ain’t replied to the kid. You okay?”  
“I’ll be fine.” Arthur croaks, looks away, a rushed scratch of the chin, then a hand goes to check his side. He ain’t bleeding thankfully; still hurts thou.  
“We should camp here tonight.” Isaac proposed, though with that grimace on his face it was more of a demand. “Inside the church.”  
Arthur’s down for anything, as long as Sebastian is too.  
“Sure. Why not.” He says.  
Arthur hears a sigh roll out of Isaac as he pulls down to skin the boar he killed. So, he gets the second deer. Even in this dark it’s almost an entirely clean job, the pelt’s got no previous nicks in it; should make for a fine vest.  
He puts that on the back of Sebastian’s horse:  
“You should take it.” Man comes closer. “And don’t you dare say no. It’s a gift.”  
One defeated sigh from Sebastian: “I guess I will have to start refusing such gifts if you keep getting injured and I have to pull your ass out of dying.”  
“That was one time.”  
“Oh? So, what do you call almost getting skewered by a wild boar-”  
“Being an idiot.” Isaac interrupts, unloading the sleeping bag off Big Sir after stowing the boar pelt on him.  
Arthur raises his arms and lets them fall to the side: “I thought you had my back.”  
“I do, Pa.”  
A snort: “Agh, sometimes I wonder why I bother.” It’s playful, not meant as an insult as a hand goes to ruffle the mop of hair on the boy’s head. “C’mon.” He loves the boy to the heavens and back.  
They set up camp: a fire just outside the church walls, their bed rolls inside. Isaac on one side of him, nearer the wall, Sebastian on the other towards what remained of the isle; it just felt right that way as if he could protect the kid like this. But before sleep came some dinner – well a 3 AM dinner...  
They ended up roasting some of the venison they just caught, with some thyme and grilled mushrooms on the side.  
And he saw that; the way Sebastian grabbed his right shoulder, massaging it between thumbs.  
“You sure you a’right?”  
“Yeah... Not a thing to worry about.”  
Arthur insists: “Does it hurt?”  
Sebastian throws him a glare: “How about you? Your side? The bulletwounds?”  
“Black and blue all over, but I’ll live.” He takes a mouthful of that meat. A moment of reflection: “What? Was you worried I won’t, friend?” Arthur don’t you get smug.  
“Friend?” Sebastian chows on his steak as well. “Ain’t thought we was friends.”  
“Well whatchu wanting me to call you? Ol’ sport?”  
A loud snort, followed by a cough, as the man chokes on the bite he had. Arthur flinched forward. Sebastian waves him away as if he’s fine.  
A drowned out, dry cough: “I don’t think that’s even a saying.”  
“Well ain’t everything just made up anyway?”  
A bob of the head: “I ain’t knowing.”  
A moment’s silence: Isaac found something that looked like a silver coin on the ground, flipped it on all sides, running his hand over the inscription, looked at Sebastian then pocketed the thing. The adults were busy chewing the meat in silence, or well as much of a silence as that bell still dangling gave them. Yet, somehow that sound grew familiar and pleasant. A thunder cracked in the sky above; downpour came soon after. The water didn’t really get inside the arch they camped under.  
The fire smoked out soon enough.  
“Thank you” Arthur whispers as they were getting inside their bedrolls. “For this.”  
Sebastian doesn’t say anything else, just flashes a smile, then turns around and, Arthur presumes, falls fast asleep.

Next day he was gone before they woke up.


	3. The man in the mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur returns to see Sebastian, only to find out the man's struggling with much more than he wants to admit.

There was no reason, no reason at all, why he should be seeing the man again. Well, no rational one. But there he was, back at the goddamn Molly-house, and after what Trelawny trudged him through he was really needing something to look up to.

Well... It was that and the fact that Dutch said Isaac was ready to start earning his keep like one of them men. He might have been almost 17, but the boy ain’t _meant_ for that. Dutch _insisted._

And Arthur did as asked: took Isaac with Charles to rescue Trelawny. With it all on his head he almost got strangled in one of them cornfields – if it weren’t for Charles. Big man shot the bastard. Thankfully Isaac ain’t seen more than an Arthur a bit out of breath, but that was the usual for the two of them... Then to take the kid stagecoach robbing with Trelawny of all people.

He said no. And if it weren’t for Abigail and Miss Grimshaw, he might have not seen the end of it. Micah of all people jumped in Dutch’s defense about _Arthur_ taking _his kid robbing,_ like some lunatic. But what word out of Micah’s mouth can he trust.

Turned out to be nothing dangerous – unless you value your eardrums and possibly your sanity.

And here he found himself; hoping to see a familiar face. What a strange world. Bein’ always on the move felt right, even if with that you left behind every single person you could have considered a friend before. Maybe it was Isaac; maybe it was them both, that kept returning to the same people to see if they were all a’right; that the world ain’t done ‘em in yet.

“You looking for something, honey?” a woman asked.

“I-” Arthur looked around her. “Yes. You know Sebastian? Castellanos?”

“Oh, he’s inside, honey.” She fluttered her fan. “If you swing both ways just you know I’m waiting, pretty bh’oy.”

He’s into women a’right but that’s ain’t what he’s here for. Arthur gets inside. A few of the boys there, give him looks up and down. He glares back. A breath gets caught in his chest.

“I’m just lookin’ for a friend that’s all.” Arthur puts his hands up, announcing loudly.

And sure enough there he was: in a cream coat, head slumped between his hands.

“Sebastian?”

A hand on his shoulder that stops him from going any further:

“He’s out of it, pardner. Let him have that.”

Arthur pushes the man off: “What’s happened?”

“Dunno. Been cranky an’ gloomy ever since he came back from that Valentini feller this morning.”

“Touch ‘im and you’ll hear a man hiss.” A brawny man laughed from behind a table.

“I heard that.” Sebastian growled from there. The saloon wasn’t all that big.

“So? Ain’t seen you this pissy since you came- wait no. I did. Whenever someone mentions that precious lil’ daughter of yours-”

Sebastian bolted straight up, step harsh and fast, fists raised. Arthur and the other man barely managed to hold him back.

“_STAY OUT OF IT!_” The man was all a rage; Arthur held him firm, the other boy however flinched away. Sebastian snarls like some animal, turns ‘round an grabs at Arthur’s clothes: “**_I said. Stay out of it._**” It was a bellow, a rumble from deep within the chest.

They’re too close. He can smell the whiskey on his breath. He’s probably drunk. A quick gaze down- _bandages? _And bloody at that.

“You need to calm down, friend...” Arthur says, low, serious.

“We ain’t friends, Mister Morgan.” Sebastian lets go of him and Arthur returns the gesture, then man storms out. Limping.

A glance at the other two strangers, who are in shock, especially the brutish one, pale as a ghost.

“Guess I’ll go talk to him then...” Arthur says, finally walking outside.

Sebastian’s leaned against a wall and he tries to approach with caution. He stands by him, saying nothing. With a trembling hand Sebastian lights up a cigarette and takes a really long draw from it.

“Why are you here?” No anger now, more like heartache.

“I don’t know.”

Silence. For a while.

“I have nothing you want.” Sebastian puffs out.

“Maybe it’s the other way around.”

A dry laugh: “And what _the fuck_ would I need from you?”

“You’re bleedin’. Did you have anyone take a look at those wounds?”

Sebastian pins him with a gaze; another long, heavy inhale from the cigarette, the head falls to look at the ground again with the smoky exhale.

“That ain’t your business.”

“It ain’t been your business saving my ass back there.” Arthur snapped; lips pursed when the mouth closes. Sebastian stood quiet. “Look, I ain’t a good man, but I gotta give back what was given to me.” Putting it into words made it clearer.

“Was a pelt not enough?...”

“No.” And that’s ‘cause Sebastian saved his life for the sake of his son and he can’t even think what it would of meant to the boy if he was to die. Like that of all things... “Take care of ye’rself, Sebastian.”

Another draw; a puff. “You too, Arthur.”

As if that’s meant as a goodbye...

“Let’s get you to a doctor to have a look at those.” Arthur speaks up again. “You patched them ye’rself?”

No reply for a long while: “Yeah.”

Arthur unglued himself from the wall, a hand round his back: “C’mon.”

For once the man followed along. Arthur knew the way to the Doctor by now, and unlike the other time this was leisurely. Steps were taken in silence.

At least halfway through the walk:

“How are you feeling...” Sebastian asks, voice quiet.

“The wounds healed long ago.” It’s a smile. “I’m good.” In no small part thanks to him.

Sebastian spared Isaac...

The Doctor gave them both _a look_ upon entering, but Sebastian went into the office alone. Arthur waited outside. It was a sunny day when him and Isaac got here. Now the sun was hidden between clouds, air hot, soupy, electricity in the air, prickling on his skin. Arthur rubbed his arms, drawing in air between his teeth. Then an exhale as head was left to hang low. Eyes close.

He knew why he was here. But it ain’t a clear thought inside his head, but a feeling inside his chest. Oh, how much of a fool he feels he’s gonna be... Same foolishness got him here and many other places. Somehow through all of this he _has a son._ A son of all things... He was barely 19 when Isaac was born and he ain’t known what to do back then. He half guessed all of it to be perfectly honest.

But he ain’t ever gonna forget the day he brought Isaac back. They shot his mother, Eliza, poor girl, for 10 bucks or something. The kid, 4 at the time, ran and hid under some crates, so people made two crosses. Yet somehow Arthur still looked inside the house and found the poor boy, pale as a ghost and dirty, perched upon the bed with a wild look in his face. Isaac had his mother’s rich brown eyes; in them he still saw embers glowing green when angered or when the sun shone on his face and the boy laughed-

The click of the doorknob stole the thoughts from him:

“Everything a’ri-”

Sebastian just went and grabbed his collar with force, then just stared, lips a thin line and eyes glistening, wet. Head bows as both fists crumple his shirt. Heart drums within his chest and he ain’t knowin’ quite hot to react. Well, man pinned him before, but this ain’t a time requiring of such _kindnesses._ Lips puckered Arthur stood there, huffing.

“You shouldn’t’ave to look after me...” Is that where this all comes from? Did he disturb his lone wolf antics ‘cause he decided to be a decent human for once in his goddamn life of robbery and murder? If that’s so why in Christ’s name would you save his ass, Sebastian? Arthur’s jaws clench- “Thank you...” Sebastian spoke slow, low, breathy. And muscles soften.

And he wouldn’t let go.

“What the doctor say?” Arthur’s voice was probably rougher than intended, but can you blame him: he’s pinned to a goddamn wall by the man he was tryinna’ help!

“Health cure, bed rest...”

“Need a drink?...” Arthur’s still within his grip. “You sure look like ye’r needin’ it.”

“Yeah...” Sebastian, at last, let go. “I’ll buy you a whiskey.”

_For all that trouble, you better be_-

They got the whiskey in the next bar over; a shoddy, grim place that may or may not be crawling with rats. And the goddamn drink was 2$ each shot. No chance they getting drunk on it; they ain’t _that_ rich.

They still got themselves two rounds of the thing. And he really wanted to say this for some reason:

“You know the night I brought Isaac back, after his mother got robbed to death, the boy cried all the way. I thought he died when he finally had no more lungs to scream. He looked at me with the fiercest eyes. He wouldn’t go sleep. Stood on my bed, glaring at everyone like a cornered racoon. I took him in my arms – he was 4 at the time, lil’ thing – and he fell asleep there. I ain’t been a father before that. Only visited from time to time. I just... I had to protect that kid.”

What’s 2 more dollars? Arthur threw the cents for his glass to be filled again. He barely waited for it, drinking the liquor in one go. It burned.

Then Arthur continued: “And somehow I think I failed.”

“You’re still a better father than I ever was, Arthur. They took my daughter... Wife, the new Sheriff. I _used to be a Sheriff._ In Rhodes. It’s been... 5 years...” Sebastian sounds entirely exhausted, words roll out with sighs. “She was so young... She was... 5 I think. Maybe 6...” Fists slam on the bar: “_All because some fucking Nightfolk!_”

“Sir, keep it down or I’ll have to ‘_kindly_’ escort ya out_._”

“Sorry...” Sebastian bows his head and huffs- or maybe it was a sob.

“I’m so sorry for what happened, Sebastian. I really am.” A hand plants on the man’s back; it trembled.

Sebastian waves him away: “We should be leaving...” He even stands up.

And Arthur follows him outside.

“She was so small...” Sebastian continues, rested against the wall, hat on his head, tipped forward. “She was so small in my arms.” His arms cradled air. “Such a sweet little thing. She would be playing with my fingers, stick ‘em in her mouth and chew on them like a puppy.” That may be the first time Arthur’s heard him laugh. “So small, so fierce, she kept tugging at her mother’s hair, so she handed her to me ‘cause I had no locks.” Smile fades. “And I ain’t sure if I ever loved her as I should... I like women; guess I like men better...” Tone shifts to a growl. “And that was _a problem_. That and the undead in the bayou.”

Arthur couldn’t help it: “Watchu mean the undead in the bayou-”

“It’s... a long story.” Then head tilts up to look at him. Yeah, Sebastian’s eyes are wet, dried tears in the corners, but his gaze is soft. “You really ain’t got a problem with _me_ bein’ your _friend_?”

‘cause Sebastian liked men?...

“ ‘couse not.”

“Hm...” head tilts back down. “That’s... good to hear.” For a moment Sebastian’s hand ghosts over Arthur’s, leaned over the wall. But only for a moment. It sent a shiver down his chest. “Thank you... Once again.”

He should probably get back to camp, to Isaac. He’s been gone for too long. And well, he sort of told the boy that he’ll be seeing Sebastian, but well not _directly._

The alcohol made him dizzy. He stood silent.

“And I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole.” Sebastian continues; it had Arthur snorting.

“You better be.” Tone’s harsh. And then a sigh. “Guess I should be goin’ then.”

“Take care of yourself, Arthur.”

“You too, Sebastian.”

So it was a goodbye after all...


	4. Blessed are the merciful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian finds out from Isaac that Arthur has not returned to his gang yet - he has been kidnapped by Colm O'Driscoll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a longer one and WARNING FOR EROTIC MUTILATION in the Stefano Valentini section towards the end of the chapter.

It’s barely been a day since he last saw Arthur. So the last thing he expected was hearing his name be called out by his son. Boy barged in; eyes wide in troubled anticipation.

“I thought he was with you.” It’s what he simply said; voice cracking from boyhood and worry.

A hand on the boy’s back to lead him out of the small, crowded saloon. Getting up ached. He led him to some stairs by the marketplace so they could sit down, ‘cause he ain’t meant to sit up. Leaving the soreness of his chest from the cuts aside, on the inside, something crawled and grappled at his heart. Something was terribly wrong.

“Something happened.” It wasn’t even a question; statement.

“He ain’t back. Been gone with-” Boy pursed his lips, shot up from the stairs, looked at him convicted. Yes, Sebastian guessed the boy and his father were part of an outlaw gang, and Arthur ain’t taught the kid to be stupid.

After a moment’s hesitation, a search through his pockets, Isaac snatches Sebastian’s hand and presses round, flat metal in in, roughly bigger than a large coin. It was a medallion. _Saint Sebastian Pray for us._

“_Don’t turn him in._” The boy was on the verge of tears with that demand, lips pressed in a thin line and nose crinkled, then he came closer and in a hushed tone: “You heard of Dutch van der Linde? That’s us. Since I’ve been young or before that.” At least 15 years an outlaw, then. Jesus Christ... Sebastian remained silent. “He left this morning, said to discuss some peace with that man Colm O’Driscoll.” He ain’t knowing him. “Never came back...” Isaac then looked away. “Dunno why I’m telling you this. You couldn’t even help...”

The pit in his stomach grows. Sebastian almost put his hand on Isaac’s back, but stopped. Not just by the pain in his shoulder, but ‘cause it wasn’t his place to do so. But how else could he even try to help the boy that clearly came for some form of comfort. Did he not find it in his gang?

“What’d the others say? Dutch?”

“Said he went away like he always did. He’ll come back. _But I’m always there. I’m with him!_” Bitter silence then: “Unless it’s you I guess...” and silence falls yet again. “Did you fuck?...”

“No.” Sebastian coughs the answer out in an instant.

That was never the intent. Yes, Arthur was _quite_ handsome, but he never paid and didn’t ever have to; man said they were friends, despite his chosen line of work, despite his frankly abhorrent behavior towards him. Sebastian just had to be stupid enough to save someone once.

He... he cared about people. And it got him here.

_But this wasn’t about him._ It was about this kid who just lost his father, after almost watching him die not too long ago. What a mess... And Sebastian had _nothing_ to give the kid. Not like he did before anyway. He ain’t meant to be a father.

He stands up: “You should go back to camp...” It almost sounded cruel.

Isaac stood stiff.

“This ain’t no place for a kid.”

“I ain’t no kid no more...” the boy said, bitter. “Took me for a... social call...” A delicate word for something that must have involved beatings... A sigh: “Pa’s a good- decent man, mister.”

Sebastian pats the boy’s back this time, despite the burst of pain: “He is.” Life ain’t about to give ‘em much choice in who they gonna be, but Isaac’s probably still too young to understand that.

Isaac mellows somehow under touch. The boy probably doesn’t understand very well what is it that he and his father could be sharing if it wasn’t something sexual – the circumstances of their meeting surely gave off that idea. But Sebastian ain’t quite sure himself what’s it about Arthur. It was strange. A man with a son all but drops dead in the streets of Saint Denis, and when refusing the money, takes him hunting in the dead of night, let’s him stay. Then comes back. To show he cares; for whatever reason – no, it made perfect sense. Isaac was Arthur’s entire world. Somehow, Sebastian saved them both.

Was that why Isaac shoved that medallion in his hand? To take care of them? To take care of _him, Arthur?_ But Sebastian had _nothing_ to offer, him or to this kid. He ain’t even knowin’ who the fuck Colm O’Driscoll was to try and be a hero and save his Pa.

Well, maybe there was one thing he could do.

“Want me to come back with you? It ain’t quite safe out there-”

“Yeah.” Isaac slipped away, ran for his horse; a few clucks so the mountain of a stallion bends its front knee and the boy climbs into saddle. “Just... just a bit before camp. I’ll tell you when.”

It’s reckless, the way the boy spurs the horse to a gallop on the crowded streets of Saint Denis. But he can’t say he doesn’t understand Isaac’s grief. His father is gone and might be gone for good. Sebastian ain’t even thought that in some way, no matter his efforts, Arthur was meant to die. A pang within his chest, breath labored, sore: how it all fit into it all. He ain’t a do-gooder. He’s a fucking homosexual prostitute, lowest rung of the ladder... He _can’t_ save people. Couldn’t even save his little girl, so there’s no one else.

Riding hurt, pain shot up though the shoulder, crawled, itching electric, down between the ribs. That with all those thoughts. He remembered Stefano’s knife; carving almost carefully into his skin; at the shoulder it dug deep, hungry, so now he could barely move it. Sebastian tried as best he could to follow. Isaac rode with quiet rage.

The road took them through Rhodes. One more reason to have his heart jump up – he couldn’t tell that to the boy. It was his nightmare. But the town passed soon enough, after which they went ahead on the way that led by Southfield Flats.

Isaac stopped by a trail that went into the woods, but he didn’t say anything for quite a while:

“Thank you...”

He’s out of words himself: “Good luck, kid...”

A stifled sob before he turned his horse away-

Two men come out of the woods with riffles in their hands. Sebastian put his arms up.

“Isaac head back to camp.” The black haired one, with the scarred face urged.

The other, a red head pointed the barrel at him: “And you, don’t you dare pull any funny business, ya’ hear.” He sounded Irish.

“_He’s with me!_” Isaac tried, jumped off the horse, rushed between them.

“No he ain’t. Watchu talking about?” Scar-Face continued, grabbing the boy’s shoulder.

“_He’s with Arthur!_” Isaac screeched.

“Watchu done to the boy?!” the Irish loaded the gun.

“_Nothing!_” Sebastian roared himself.

“He saved Pa!” The two men looked at each other. “Those few weeks ago when he came back shot up. He only made it ‘cause of him.” Silence. “_Why don’t you trust me, you idiots!_”

“Hush, boy!-” The brunet tried speaking but was met by a harsh palm over his cheek. “You son of a-”

“I say we take ‘im to Dutch. He’ll know what to do. C’mon fancy pants!” The Irish took his horses’ reins and started leading him between the trees.

Isaac whistled for his stallion and ran ahead on foot.

“Dutch!” both the boy and Scar-Face yelled at the same time.

There were no less than 20 people in that camp and every single one of them looked up at him, all reaching for their guns.

“What happened?” Most probably Dutch himself, raven haired, trimmed moustache, gold rings and chains.

“This focker was just by the road with Isaac.” Irish man called out.

“Are you alright, son?” Dutch spoke to Isaac.

“How many times do I have to say. _This man saved Arthur’s life._” Isaac was livid and scared all at once.

“Did he now?... Boy says you saved Arthur’s life.” Dutch approached like a big cat, step certain, wide, ambling, arms outstretched. “That true?”

“He got shot by Lemoyne Raiders a few days ago in Saint Denis. I helped him to the Doctor. Offered him a bed.” Sebastian spoke low. He ain’t a threat.

He’s outnumbered, scanning the people that now surround him and his horse.

He recognized that one.

And that one recognized him.

“No way!” The big man shot up “I know that one!-” then he closed his mouth as if he almost fell into a horrendous trap.

Yes, Sebastian saw him. He fucked Albert the Bear some time ago.

“Shit! I thought I’ve seen this man before.” The man tried to backtrack but it’s too late.

“Where, Bill.” Dutch ordered.

“Ooough- Shit! Back in Saint Denis.” Bill caved in. “In a Molly-house. He’s a, uh, working man.”

People looked at Bill and that man became small. And Sebastian’s chest was cramped, tight.

“Oh, is that so...” Dutch continued “I sure do hope you don’t come here with _any_ nefarious intentions. Especially not towards the boy.”

“Dutch-” Isaac dragged the man by his sleeves. “He and Pa-” an inhale. “He... and Pa... You know what I mean...” The boy tried, voice dying by the end.

“You for real?” Scar-Face couldn’t contain his disbelief. “Jesus Christ.”

Dutch’s face lights up in an odd expression as if he just discovered someone shitting in the outhouse:

“Arthur and-”

“Where is he?!” Isaac keeps shaking Dutch’s arm. “Where’s Pa?! You took him with you, where is he?! Sebastian ain’t seen him!” An elderly chap unglues the boy from Dutch. “Uncle Hosea, don’t you dare!”

And it’s the elder one that speaks: “You seen Arthur recently, Sebastian, I presume?”

“Yesterday. But not since.” Sebastian replies, almost as if following etiquette.

“He went this morning with you!” Isaac points at Dutch. “and Micah!” then at the burly fellow in the red shirt, mug hidden by a white hat.

“Calm down, son!” Dutch almost lost his temper there.

Hosea held the kid closer and firmer, with a soft, calm whisper: “He’s right Isaac, you gotta stay calm about this.” Then he picks his head up: “Dutch, Arthur’s most probably in some trap somewhere. Shouldn’t we send some boys out to look for him, the kid’s all worried.”

“If Arthur’s kidnapped ain’t we should be looking for ‘im?” Sean spoke up. “He did the same for me, he did!”

“I’d say the same.” A black man built like a bull spoke up.

“And I say we need to calm down!” Dutch raised his tone above everyone else’s. “And we wait it out.”

“Wait it out like ye did with me?” The Irishman shot up. “And let him get tortured a month?”

“_No!_” Isaac struggled.

“_I’ll_ see what I can do!” Dutch continued. “Now everybody, _stay calm_! He’s _fine!_”

“He ain’t fine.” Isaac’s voice could barely be heard saying that; Hosea shook the boy’s shoulder, dragged him closer.

“What about me?” Sebastian asked; he wanted to get down from the horse and in some shape or form join the poor kid.

“We have our eyes on you-” that sounded like a threat but not an outright refusal of him being there.

Off the horse he goes, it comes with a grit of teeth as his shoulder gave him no peace. Sebastian tries to approach Hosea and Isaac.

“Is it true that Arthur, uhm, how do I say that delicately-”

“No need.” Sebastian cut the old man short.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to assume-”

This whole discussion made him shift his weight from one leg to the other, uncomfortable; it ain’t like that. He and Arthur... Friends. Even though that time when he grabbed the man’s hand he _felt_. A warm rush flushing his chest

“He ain’t paid me for anything if that’s what you’re asking.” Sebastian speaks at last. “I care. For him and the boy.”

Isaac was still locked between the other man’s arm, looking up at him.

“Arthur’s been a good father if you ask me.” Hosea continued. “Meaning with what he was given he... I feel he tried.”

“I feel so too.”

“That is quite good to hear.” Sebastian was still stiff. Pain. And this discussion isn’t helping. “Sorry if I made you feel odd, it’s just quite the news to me. Always thought Arthur- well he is a father and all.”

“I had a daughter.” Sebastian interrupts yet again. Heart hung heavy in his chest. “You got any place to sit down.” Well there were tables around but he wasn’t going to assume they’re for him.

“Sure.”

“I had a daughter.” He says again, once seated. Isaac’s on a chair by Hosea’s side. “I had a wife that loved me, thou’ I guess not enough. I was _a Sheriff. _Right here in Rhodes.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that...”

“Yes... I saved Arthur because he had a son begging for help.” A deep breath in so he doesn’t start crying in front of all these strangers that don’t want him no good. “Because I couldn’t save her, my little girl. I couldn’t-”

“That’s... quite the story there. I’m sorry, Sebastian... And thank you. For bringing Arthur back to us-”

“And now he’s gone again-” tone becomes harsher.

“Well, Arthur’s always been quite hardy, he made it out of worse predicaments, when Isaac was real young.” Hosea drags he boy in his lap. “I reckon he’ll be back.”

“It was definitely a trap they sent him in back there-”

“I know, Isaac. But I guess Dutch is right about waiting for a little while. Rushing in God knows where and finding it crawling with O’Driscolls ain’t smart. It’s probably what they want. Arthur’s bait.”

Isaac jumped off:

“Can I go fishing? There’s a spot not far from here-”

“Not alone, Isaac.” Hosea said.

“I’ll go.” Sebastian added, standing up.

“Ah, guess the boy’ll make an outlaw of you yet.” Old man got up too. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

Hosea left. But seeing them go out of camp, Mister Scar-Face strode towards them.

“Can I... uhm, join the two of you?”

Isaac perked up a bit: “Will Jack come?”

“Uhm... No. Not this time. I... I gotta talk with- Sebastian was it?”

“Oh.” Isaac’s eyebrows draw together.

“Didn’t get your name.” Sebastian spoke, just before getting back up in the saddle with considerable effort; a groan.

“John. Marston. I, uhm...” Man whistled for his horse. Isaac already took on ahead. “I guess I’m sorry...”

Sebastian tried to keep pace with the boy. Marston kept quiet. “That all?”

Man came fast from behind: “Kinda... Okay. Well, I care about Arthur; he’s like a brother to me. And, uhm. That’s his kid, gotta watch out for him-”

“You ain’t even watching out for Jack!” Isaac shouted and his voice almost sounded like Arthur’s himself.

“I’m trying, Isaac!” John called back, but the boy only rode harder.

What was left of the ride was taken in silence and when reaching the fishing spot Isaac stood quiet minding his business. That John feller stood unnaturally away from the water’s edge, perched on a dirt mound. And he still managed to catch some decent smallmouth. But between the three of them Isaac felt professional. And angry. In the way he reeled the fish in and threw the line out. Both of them noticed. The boy had tears streaming down his face for some time, wiped them with one hand while waiting for the next bite.

The golden hour rushed over them. Sebastian took a look at the clock: with all this he almost forgot he should be seeing Stefano again around 6PM. There was plenty time still.

“You should head back to camp.”

Isaac looked at him most heartbroken. John tried to escort the boy back but he jumped to hug Sebastian first. A pained huff came of him with that head pressed into his chest. He couldn’t resist though, returning the embrace. The kid missed his father, but he wasn’t him... He wasn’t meant to be a father...

“Take care, Isaac, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.”

“Will you, uh, swing by again?” John still didn’t know how to talk to him.

Sebastian bobbed his head, ‘cause all that depended on Arthur. What a thought to think that was...

The man was gone and Sebastian was to return to Stefano Valentini.

Mister Valentini picked him up in a stagecoach, as he always did, didn’t talk all the way to the manor. The house was overlooking the bayou and had a lavish garden. The sun didn’t set yet.

“Undress, darling, we’re going to be taking some photos in this glorious light. You’ll look _stunning._”

“And the payment?”

“75$ like usual. _Undress._” Harsh, as he got his camera and knives ready.

Sebastian did as asked, back turned from him, until he was demanded to.

“Lay down, Sebastian.”

He did, plainly. And Stefano measured him up and down.

“Your shoulder.”

“What about it?”

“It’s irritated. Turn so I can see it.” Sebastian turned on his side. “Head down. To the ground. That’s it...”

But it was missing something. It always did. But first came the flowers: white rose petals, sprinkled around him. Goosebumps rose on his skin.

“I like that, Sebastian~ Your body fears me in just the _right ways._” He stepped back towards the tool stool, over his body, making him feel as if he lacked any power to oppose.

Sharp, the knife was lodged deep into his shoulder, right where he was before. He writhed and clenched his teeth-

Stefano stepped behind the camera. “Now take it out slowly, darling.”

Teeth bare, and huff with huff, inch with inch- the blade slid out of his mutilated right shoulder. Every time he stuck it in, it dug deeper, the curved tip grazed bone and clung to flesh, sending an electric shiver up his spine until his vision turned white and his body turned cold, then an almost mellow pain as his body heated up again, and the place stung, crawled like a hornet’s nest. Blood dripped down his bare chest, onto the pavement. And Stefano kept encouraging him with words that might have almost felt sweet.

Almost out. Unbearable. Unbearably slow. His entire body trembled under the sensation, muscles stiff and sore. He twists to pull the knife laying on his underside-

A boot to his gut.

The knife falls on the pavement with a clink.

The boot turns Sebastian; pins him on his back. Stefano sits on top of him, his cock is hard under tight pants.

“Agh-”

“How dare you, Sebastian~” The camera’s in his hands, still snapping pictures of him.

But it wasn’t enough. Stefano’s gloved hands mess with his hair, roll his head around as if it’s a toy. Threads fall in his eyes, exhales come heavy onto cobblestone; he can taste dirt.

“Good- Very good.”

Then his chin is tilted up.

“Look at me, Sebastian-” He doesn’t. “_Merda! Look! At me!_” Fingers clench in his jaw, but that pain he doesn’t feel. “I can’t say I don’t taste your defiance, but it’s not what I’m looking for-”

For one second he wondered if Arthur was someplace where someone made an equal mess out of him. Torture. Like that Irishman said... Gaze returns to Stefano, eyebrows knitted.

“Ohh~” Stefano moaned, and grinded once onto his body. “_Superbo, Sebastian- Superbo~_”

Then he got up, satisfied, moaning to himself.

“Thank you, darling. I’ll have the Doctor stitch you up and bandage the wound. I’ll be gone a few days. That should give it enough time to heal a while. Oh, Lucian, hand him the money please.”

A day, two. No word. And Arthur _didn’t_ leave his mind. But he didn’t remember that man’s face all that well, long hair, a thick beard that went all the way up his cheeks. Green eyes. His voice, but still he couldn’t place exactly how it sounded, and it got lost between the voice of his own thoughts. A shame, because he wanted something to remember him by. No, not the medallion. _Saint Sebastian._ That should have been him, but what a saint Sebastian wasn’t... A cruel title. But he remembered the deer – he had that vest made. Arrows almost in unison.

It costed him 40$ to commission that pen, but he did. A ballpoint, copper, with two arrows engraved, so he won’t forget.

The pain got worse the more he moved. He should be lying down, instead he got drinks at the bar inside his saloon. He still had about 30 something dollars left of those bills Arthur gave him. _For whiskey-_

“Hey!” He almost didn’t mind the commotion when the doors slammed.

“_Sebastian!_”

“Isaac?...” it was hard to get up.

It was the kid; he swam through the crowd and with no explanation dragged him outside. Heart began to drum inside his chest. What happened... It was Arthur.

“Call your horse.” The boy had no patience for him, ‘cause he climbed up and spurred already.

Sebastian was lucky Ashley, his trusty steed, was part Arabian, and wasted no time bolting after the boy. He rode with one hand, the other stuck to his shoulder to drown out the throbbing that picked up with each thud of the hooves on the ground. He asked no questions; Isaac said nothing.

“When’dchu even slip by!?” the Irishman was first to greet them when he saw Isaac coming back with Sebastian, still clutching the seams of his coat.

But Isaac had one goal and one goal only: bringing Sebastian to Arthur’s bedside. That left shoulder... A shotgun blast the size of a fist, septic.

“Isaac-” voice was weak. “Isaac, com’ere.” Boy knelt down, wrapped his arms around his father. Arthur stroked the boy’s hair. “Com’ere... Isaac. I wouldn’t of left you alone...” Hand keeps stroking, despite the obvious pain in his face; eyes looked up at Sebastian as if in doing so came some great realization.

The middle-aged woman that was sitting on a chair there, handed it to Sebastian. Arthur kept muttering soft coos to his son. It was the third time he saw this man down; each time even closer to death...

“We have to leave.” Isaac stands up, announces with conviction beyond his years, despite the sobs that thickened his voice. “We’re gonna leave.”

As if he heard that Dutch approached, hands up, defensive.

“_You did this!_”

“I didn’t know, Isaac...” He sounded penitent. “I’m really sorry, son. I- I made a mistake, I know that.”

“_This cannot happen again!_”

“It won’t, son.” The man had no intention of leaving.

“Give him some time, Dutch...”

Dutch bowed his head, nodded: “Rest up, Arthur.”

Isaac still stood, huffing, as if trying to be barrier between everything that was out there, Dutch included, and his wounded father.

“Isaac. Com’ere. Please.” Boy returned without hesitation. “C’mon up.”

The boy eyed Arthur up and down, then carefully pulled his legs over his father’s body, laying down, head nestled on the man’s good shoulder. The other arms moved almost mechanically to wrap around the kid.

“Need a blanket.”

Arthur puffed, shaking his head slightly.

“You brought ‘im to camp?”

“Yeah.” Isaac replied. “Thought you was with him.” Boy clings to the union suit.

“I’m sorry, Isaac...”

“It’s okay... It’s gonna be fine...”

Arthur pursed his lips and staggered out a sigh: “Yeah. Yeah it will, son...”

“We have to get out.”

“Yeah-” Gaze locked on Sebastian. He remembered the man’s words: there’s no getting out...

There gotta be. His chest became cold with a shiver, then too warm.

Sebastian knelt down, groaned doing so and decided, against better judgement, that he can put his hand next to Arthur’s. And Arthur took it, curled his fingers around Sebastian’s palm. And once again, against his better judgement, he remembered that darned medallion; snuck it underneath Arthur’s grip.

“Saint Sebastian. Protects soldiers I heard.” The Molly-house was near a church after all.

Arthur gave the single note of a laugh, before it turned to a wheeze:

“You wanna be my Saint or something?”

Sebastian dared smile: “Can’t say I haven’t thought about the possibility.”

Sarcastic tone’s left aside and with a squeeze of the palm: “Guess it ain’t all that bad then...”

He stayed the night by Arthur’s bed.


	5. Grace Period

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Sebastian recover from the wounds dealt to them in the last chapter after which Arthur has a talk with Dutch. Later a surprise meeting with an old flame.

Isaac was up before any of them. And maybe to his own surprise Arthur slept throughout the night with Sebastian’s hand into his own. More or less at least. The medallion was on the ground. A light squeeze of the palm he’s holding. Eyes dart up – Sebastian’s still asleep, leaned against the foot of his table. Poor bastard; came all this way and for so little as himself...

Thoughts were all over; his forehead burned up like a furnace – but he knew that. Everything else, one big goddamn mess in his head.

Colm wanted to sell ‘em to the Pinkertons, using him as bait. It’s the one thing he told Dutch when he came back...

And Isaac. All that time he couldn’t forgive himself for leaving Isaac alone like he did. And the boy clearly ran off to Sebastian wondering where the hell his Pa’s gone. And nothing tore his chest apart more than knowin’ they _barely_ survived another one of these...

This one was worse... He hoped, prayed the shoulder ain’t gonna come down with gangrene, ‘cause at this point it’s already feelin’ numb, itching up and down like an ant’s nest. He still felt Sebastian’s hand in his own.

He should try getting-

“Augh- _Shit!_” Well that woke him up. “I’m sorry...”

He can’t move. Just getting his head off the pillow made it feel like it was made of lead and like the brains fell out of the back of his skull. A light tug of the arm from Sebastian; teeth grit, air’s sucked in with a wheeze.

“Shouldn’t of done that-” Sebastian’s voice is thickened by sleep.

“Ah, you couldn’t of known.” And he still hasn’t let go. A pang inside his guts. The gang met him, that much was obvious, he wondered what Isaac told them about him. But words don’t come help him.

“How are you feeling?”

“About as well as I look, I guess...” Arthur sighed. “What ‘bout you?”

“I ain’t feelin’ half my body.” Sebastian cracked a laugh, and he tried one for himself, but the groan bubbled inside his chest regardless.

A short silence, allowing the pain to settle: “So... They let you stay?”

“Don’t know.”

“What did Isaac say-”

“I escorted him back to camp the day he couldn’t find you. John and the Irishman brought me in thinking I’ve done something to the kid.” A deep breath in from Sebastian, as if drawing courage: “He said we was lovers. So they won’t shoot me then and there I guess.”

Lips purse, another pang inside his guts and a shiver flowing up: “Guess that’s that then...”

But they ain’t lovers. Far from it. They-... What the hell was they that they ended up like this.

Do he have to play enamored now? He ain’t no actor and he rather despised pretending.

“You don’t have to-”

“I ain’t intending to.” Arthur had to be blunt, and it might of come off as rude, but he just ain’t knowin’ what he’s feelin’. It ain’t uncomfortable, just rather odd, ‘cause he still held onto the man’s hand like his life somehow depended on it. Heart picked at a gallop; he just had to say this: “Well, to be perfectly honest with you, I can’t make heads or tails of it all.”

“I ain’t much smarter on the subject, Arthur...”

“Guess we gotta figure something out-”

“_We?_”

He ain’t noticed how he used them words until it came outta his mouth.

“Guess there’s a we now... At least if you intend on stayin’.” _Do you?_

“Ain’t decided yet...”

Somehow the decision seemed to of been made the moment they put their hands together the night before ‘cause they ain’t let go yet.

Miss Grimshaw checked up on Arthur not much later, and by extension that meant Sebastian too – who got a scolding only Susan could pull off. She would of kicked him onto his feet. That’s when she notices, both of them did: Sebastian screamed in pain, trying to get up, grabbed his shoulder. Miss Grimshaw seized him and yanked the shirt off. Bandages, a fresh wound.

“Where’d you get this Mister-”

“Castellanos...”

“We gotta find you a bed. Quick. Arthur how’d you let him sleep like that-”

Arthur didn’t know, just looked on with concern as he was dragged off; and Sebastian looked back at him. Isaac just returned then from where-ever he’d been gone before.

“Pa?...”

“Someone’s hurt him...” Again.

They found him a spot somewhere by Kieran, not too far off his tent. That kid’s been nothing but kind, to them all and Sebastian too; both outsiders. It’s been fun for a while, makin’ fun of the ‘O’Driscoll’ but that clearly ain’t the case no more. Boy’s been delegated to goddamn nursemaid. Arthur insisted on apologizing. Then Sean came and chewed Sebastian’s entire ear off. Sat on a chair, accused him first, then started talking of his Da and other things of his homeland. Bedridden both o’em they got no place else where to be, so it was Irish history hours for the both of ‘em. Ain’t been so bad after a while: slept like a baby to that, or maybe it was just the fever that made him so goddamn drained. One thing’s for certain he’ll be hearing Irish slang in his dreams from now on.

All week Ms. Grimshaw and Mr. Pearson swung by often; both trying their best to keep Sebastian down. He knew the feelin’ all too well. But they got fed well, bandages cleaned.

Still Arthur’s fever ain’t subsided well. Bouts of sudden dizziness and heat. No matter how much he tried to get back to functioning like a human it ain’t seem to be possible.

It took two more days until he could sit up for more than half an hour.

At least Sebastian’s doin’ better than him. Dutch got rather sick o’ him one time thou, squawked about a wounded dog in his camp; so Kieran took him fishing for most that day. Pearson was ecstatic to have so much fish. He made a fish broth, and it’s been something he ain’t known he needed or longed for.

Both Isaac and Sebastian stood on his bed, slurping hot soup like they ain’t ever had it before. And that somehow stuck with him. He pushed himself to draw that, even if it wasn’t one of his brightest ideas, a monster of’a headache split his head by the end. He ain’t known what to write beneath it thou. Not yet.

Days pass still and the camp’s getting all the friendlier to Sebastian, what Isaac said about them felt almost like a memory and the man like he’s always been there. He was a father. He could tell, by the way he’s taken to the youngest in the camp, and especially the girls; he snuck in to help Tilly and Marry-Beth with the chores Grimshaw gave ‘em. Arthur was sure they ain’t ever got cleaner clothes. Sebastian even taught Isaac how to properly scrub a shirt.

He got pangs inside his stomach whenever he thought about that. About, well, Sebastian, and what a whole ‘nother breed of man he was. How’d they even end up in the same place. How’d Sebastian end up in a whore house! That man laying down for others... And he ain’t sure how all that’d be working; lay on one’s back, spread his legs and hang his mouth open. Did his cock get hard-

_Jesus._

It ain’t like that...

No. There ain’t no denying it.

One day, Sebastian came to him. His shoulder was doing only better; at last he could move it with at least somewhat more accuracy. He was thinking of going hunting again, but Sebastian came to him.

“I saw you writing a lot.” He did. Kept him busy all these long dreary days where he was in-between ill and well. “I thought you’d have more use for this than I do.” Sebastian hands Arthur a pen.

A real fancy one: polished copper, and it ain’t no fountain pen, it had all the ink inside, and on the side two arrows. Jaw clenches. It was the first time since they held hands all those weeks ago that Arthur got that physical or affectionate: he pulled Sebastian into a hug. Man huffed against him.

How thy hell was he supposed to thank for that. He ain’t got no words. Nothing, nothing at all than a heart that drummed. He ain’t deserved _any_ of the kindnesses Sebastian did to him.

Arthur ain’t deserving nothing...

“_Thank you._” It was low, a rumble, spoken right next to the man’s ear. “**_Thank you._**”

That day, Arthur tied that medallion ‘round his neck, the Saint Sebastian one. It had to be a lucky talisman. And he finally knew what to write in his journal next to that drawing of him and Isaac eating fish broth; with the new pen to boot. That day he went up to Dutch:

“How are you feeling?” man asked, smoking his afternoon cigarette like it was a ritual; the gramophone blaring its high pitched song.

“Much better.” Arthur replied; inhaled to gather courage: "Guess I need some days away after beein' cooped up in 'ere for weeks. Just me and the kid."

Dutch looked at him before puffing out the smoke, voice was inquiring: "And Sebastian?"

"And Sebastian."

Dutch threw the cigarette away, stomped the butt with his heel and moved closer to him:

"You know it smells of rotten business to me"

"_Dutch!_” Arthur got insulted plenty times but being called a fool for trusting a man he _knew_ he could trust really offended him. Arthur can fend for himself and Sebastian ain’t no danger to the camp, just like goddamn Kieran. But that ain’t what Dutch meant. Lips purse, Arthur draws away; the remark is cold: “You know that all that matters to me is loyalty. ..And Isaac. Isaac's been all uppity these past few weeks. He needs some time with his Pa."

“Ye’r coddling him Arthur.”

“That ain’t ye’r call to make.” Don’t talk to him about parenting, Dutch. They were both outlaws and that ain’t a gentle life and not one fit for a kid that ain’t asked for none of this, least of all his Momma getting murdered like she did. “The kid ain’t an outlaw and I ain’t makin’ one o’ him. I want him to have better than I had. We all do.”

Dutch fell silent for a moment, then next he spoke his accusatory tone was gone:

“I hope you know you’re like a son to me, Arthur.”

“I know...”

They still left that day.

“Where we headed, Pa?” They barely left camp, but the boy was smart enough not be heard.

“Sebastian?” Arthur ain’t really got much ahead of him, while he reckoned the man had something to return to.

And in all these weeks he still ain’t learned what exactly happened that Sebastian got his shoulder stabbed; he only said the obvious: someone was displeased and took _corrective_ action. Arthur could only wonder if he was from the Molly-house, or maybe a _client,_ to say it delicately.

“Well... I should be heading back to Saint Denis.”

“Then we’re comin’ with you.”

“No-” A purse of lips, a deep inhale. “No matter what I say you’ll still come with me, won’t you?”

“Guess that much is obvious. Lead the way, pardner!”

“How the hell did I get stuck with you?”

“We have a bad habit of getting nosey.” Isaac said in Arthur’s stead. This kid...

“You’re a menace and a half, boy. Hope you’re well aware of that.” Arthur intervened; yeah there was still a smile on his lips.

“Yes, sir.”

Laughter from all three of them.

“You raised quite the son there, Arthur.” Sebastian spoke. “Knows how to talk back, but for Christ’s sake can’t wash a shirt.”

“It ain’t like that!” Arthur chucked and the offense in Isaac’s tone could be felt, not just heard. “_Pa!_”

“Settle down, Isaac. He means you no harm.” Father talked to son; Isaac scowled but the road went on regardless.

It took a while before more serious topics arose:

“Where are you intending to stay? In Saint Denis I mean.” Sebastian asked.

“Can’t we stay with you?” Isaac replied with another question.

“Don’t think it’s a great idea to be staying in a Molly-house of all places.” Arthur tried, but he knew where that sentiment came from. Kid got used to Sebastian.

“It’d be for the best...” Obviously Sebastian ain’t enthusiastic either. “But there’s plenty hotels around the city. The Grand Hotel has plenty rooms, you should check there.”

“And now that leads to the question of money. We ain’t the richest people...”

“One dollar per night.”

Shouldn’t be too bad, but-

“How long are we gonna stay?” Isaac took the thoughts from his head.

“Dunno. I...” He looked at the boy. “I gotta think some things over.”

More exactly: how to honor Isaac’s wishes without leaving any of the gang behind. John’s got a family of his own, wife and child. The girls, they can’t keep living like this. There’s a few men he reckons would fit better someplace else; the young ones: Sean, Lenny, Charles, even that Kieran kid, get the boy to work at a stable or something. But it ain’t easy talking to stubborn idealistic men: Sean might sooner die than give up robbing rich folk. Well he ain’t wrong, but their goal’s always been getting the money then getting out.

Seems there ain’t enough money in the world for people like them. They almost had all they needed in Blackwater, but that’s done and over-

Or was it. They ain’t knowin’ Sebastian, if only he and maybe that Kieran kid went back to collect, they might just get their hands on those money. It could give Sebastian a life. Whatever he got hurt over ain’t worth it and he reckons the man should pack his things and go.

But he can’t without the money, and Arthur ain’t sure he wanna pop that question to him.

A sigh.

“Everything a’right?” Sebastian sounded caring, and truth be told Arthur’s been silent for a while now.

“Nothing worth ruining a good mood over.”

“We in a good mood?” Sebastian cracks a laugh.

“Would you wanna be?”

“If I wouldn’t know you any better, I’d be sayin’ you’re flirting with me, Arthur.” Was that a dare, Sebastian...

But the kid had to speak up: “Everyone in camp think that anyway...”

“In no small part thanks to you.” Sebastian says.

“My own son snitching on me...”

“But the two of you are getting along.” Isaac continued with his statement. “You held hands- ”

“Isaac... It ain’t like that-”

“I just wanna know, Pa.” Isaac bowed his head then picked it up again: “You ain’t got sweet on anyone since I can remember. And it ain’t like you gotta be Dutch, bringin’ in girls once every few years, but... Well, Sean and Lenny all got sweet on the girls in camp, and it made ‘em happy! Thought someone might make you happy too, ‘cause Momma’s-”

“Isaac... You sweet kid. I’m well enough happy just to’ave got you.” He’d smooch the boy’s forehead if he wouldn’t be galloping.

He saw that, Sebastian, he saw that smile. And he ain’t quite sure what to make of this feeling; the heart’s heavy thinking that somehow he led the kid to think that it’s his job or someone else’s to keep this poor fool happy, at the same time’s filled with warmth ‘cause Isaac was, despite Arthur’s worst, shaping up to be a real good man. The boy has a chance at a real family, if only Arthur could gift him the freedom of a steady life.

There ain’t nothing easy...

Silence falls again and Saint Denis opens at their feet. They left Sebastian at his place, while they went on towards the Grand Hotel. They lodged in.

He was thinking of ways to earnestly earn money and maybe get Isaac involved as well to try and give him the chance of a honest livin-

“_Mary?..._” His mouth hangs open and he holds Isaac back, pressing the boy against his body.

“Arthur...” She was just as surprised to see him as he was to see her. “I... I would have wrote you a letter...” She looks down at Isaac, whose head whipped back looking for an explanation from his father. “That’s your son.”

“Isaac. Yes. He was real young when we- uhm...” The explanation was for the boy.

“How old is he?”

“17 this upcoming October...”

“I didn’t know- I. Arthur, I didn’t think you- You raised the boy an outlaw too.”

“_No!_” Don’t go accusing him, Mary... “He ain’t ever robbed someone- He’s always helped people, Mary. He’s _most_ considerate.”

“Oh, Arthur, but if you couldn’t get out of your ways how’d you ever expect _him_ to do so? You’re so tied up in your, your ideology-”

Isaac snapped: “We will get out.” Arthur kept him down. “We just gotta take care of a few people.” His son’s sounding more and more adult by the moment.

Mary looked at Isaac most shocked, a hint offended, then back at Arthur: “I’m sorry, Arthur... I see it now, no matter how much I still think of you, it would never have worked between us.” Arthur pins Isaac down when the boy tried to speak up again, shooting a glance back at his father with irritation. “You’ve been lying to yourself and your brought up your son to think the same! You think this ends somewhere? If it does, then change something, Arthur-”

“Don’t you speak to my Pa’ like that.” Isaac growled.

“_Isaac._”

“I’m sorry, Arthur... I... I have to go now.”

Mary passes by them and trots downstairs. Arthur inhales deeply.

“C’mon. To our room.” A gentle nudge, and of course the boy picks up on the shift in his voice, the way the tone lowered and got drained of it’s usual sarcasm.

“Pa’, you can’t let people, that know nothing of us, speak to you like she did. It’s unfair.”

“People ain’t always fair, Isaac.”

“But you cared for her. She should have been.”

“Ain’t you getting your lil’ head wrapped up in some drama it ain’t supposed to be in?”

“You loved her, Pa, didn’t you...”

“Long time ago. Yes. You were real young.” Arthur sighs, opens the door to their room and steps inside after Isaac. “She couldn’t compromise and I couldn’t neither; ‘cause I was an outlaw.”

“But you tried.” Isaac sat on the edge of the bed. “I know you did.”

Arthur sits beside him: “That ain’t meaning I did my best...”

“I ain’t no outlaw.”

Arthur drags the boy onto his lap and presses a kiss on his back: “No, you ain’t.” A hand goes to comb that always messy hair of his: “You got gentleman material about you. You’ll be a great man, a great husband. Don’t let me stop you.”

Isaac shifts in his father’s embrace to wrap his arms around him.

“We gonna get out. And it ain’t only gonna be me.”

_That’s a big dream, son..._

Night fell. He couldn’t sleep, but Isaac found it soon enough, sprawled on the expensive bed. Instead Arthur found himself on the narrow balcony smoking a cigar; cause just a lil’ bit of tobacco won’t do right now.

Mary just had to come in and make it all the more complicated – well, more like heartbreaking. At one point he dreamed, he really dreamed that he could be a husband to her, and her a mother to his son. But there was no way that was ever goin’ to happen, just ‘cause he is who he is. And how can he blame her and say he ain’t at fault that he’s an outlaw that can’t leave the life.

He should of left now, with Isaac for his sake. And he _really_ wanted to. But it ain’t that easy. Arthur ain’t alone out there; John, Abigail, Jack, they’re going through the same struggles as him. They need a way out too. And if Arthur just left the guilt’ll follow him to his grave. Him and John grew up almost like brothers, annoying and dumb as he was Arthur cared ‘bout him, but mostly about his family, ‘cause the moron became a father almost entirely by accident.

And it wasn’t like Arthur became a father by design.

He can barely remember Eliza’s face. He saw her few times...

The cigar was reaching its end...

He left the balcony after the butt was thrown away. A hand goes in the satchel to grab a bottle of whatever liquor he had in there. And it all went down his throat in one go. Then Arthur went out the door, downstairs and out into the street.

He thought back to Sebastian-

He found a few more bottles of alcohol on himself. He stumbled half drunk into the brothel:

“Hi there mister-” language is slurred. “Hav’you seen Sebas-”

“Arthur?” he climbed downstairs, barely in a shirt and suspenders.

“Sebastian!” a big smile, a stumbled forward.

They more or less landed in each other’s arms. The lil’ saloon was quite busy tonight-

“You drunk, friend?”

“Just a lil’ tipsy.” And kind of missing a friend, hey- did Sebastian just call him friend...

“How’s Isaac?”

“Asleep- Can I talk to you ‘bout something-”

“Anytime.”

A hand lands heavy on Sebastian’s chest and stays there, fingers finding their way underneath the suspenders; head bows:

“I met Mary today.” He doesn’t know who Mary is, Arthur. “Mary’s- You see, I loved her a long time ago. I missed her so long.” Sebastian’s body stiffens. “I met Mary today an’ I made a fool o’myself... Said I wouldn’t- couldn’t change. And Isaac’s... Isaac’s told her off-”

“_Sebastian, take him upstairs!_” the bartender shouted.

“_It ain’t like that!_” Arthur shouts back at the man, returns his head to Sebastian soon after- “I ain’t wanting _sex-_”

He guesses he just wants a companion.

“Come outside with me.” Sebastian drags him outside, more or less pulling him on the hand; Arthur follows.

“Sebastian- I ain’t got ‘nough words to, just, thank you- Oh, I’m afraid you caught a fool...”

“At least you ain’t a moron.”

Arthur laughs: “Guess I got that...”

“I was thinking you got more than that...”

He’s not sure what he was alluding to: “You?”

“What?”

Voice gets low and raspy: “Do I got you?...”

It ain’t that cold out, but there’s goosebumps raised on Sebastian’s arms. The man looks down; a pause:

“You’re wearing it-”

“You saved me countless times, I-”

“I didn’t bring you back when Isaac needed it.”

“But that ain’t the point! _You saved me._”

“You have any idea what place you pulled me from.” Sebastian grabs the collar of his shirt and brings him closer. “Those three weeks in the camp were the most pleasant since-”

“Don’t think ‘bout that-”

Sebastian’s head drops again, fists pull Arthur closer and he just leans in. “I ain’t no Saint.”

“Like that’s what we’re meant bein’. I’m an _outlaw_ for Chrissakes...”

A bitter laugh bubbles out of Sebastian: “Maybe I should be one...”

“And I who though we were tryinna become more upstanding citizens.”

“We... We.” His fists clench in Arthur’s shirt. “You still ain’t told me what you’re wanting to talk about.”

“Do I gotta ask again, goddamnit-” He’s feeling light on his feet. “_What’s it with you? Do I. Got you._” He leans into Sebastian.

Silence. Bent over each other on the side of the road, Sebastian’s fists into his shirt, Arthur’s arms at ease beside his body, breath stinking of all sorts of cheap alcohol they just sit like that, like some broken down statue that you can’t tell what’s was ever meant to represent.

It’s a strange feeling bubbling in his gut, sweet and sour, tastes and burns like bourbon on his tongue; the more he sits like this the warmer his insides become, his palm, his temples, and heart starts beating like a drum, heavy. He remembers Mary for some reason... An electric shiver runs through his body, from the chest down, into his guts.

Arms lift at last, place themselves on Sebastian’s waist. Head dips up and closer in. He only catches the sound of a breath cut short when his lips press onto the other’s neck, just above the collarbone.

Retreat came quick.

Sebastian tilts his head away from where Arthur kissed, as if ashamed, as if allowing him for more.

Silence once again until Arthur couldn’t handle him looking at him like that, hair swept to the side of his face, eyes half lidded and expecting.

“That’s what I am to you?” Arthur speaks up at last.

“If you want that...” Sebastian’s lips tremble.

“Dunno what I want.”

“You seemed pretty convincing to me-”

The second one is ravenous, mouth presses wide and wet onto Sebastian’s neck, lips draw skin beneath them, then teeth. He moaned.

Arthur pulls away, startled, until bodies are no longer together. Breath is quick and shallow. He looks away. So does Sebastian, but his gaze quickly returns:

“Anything you want to take upstairs?”

The word that bubbles in his mouth is different that what his mind’s thinking, but lips purse and he’s got the notion that he has to weigh the heaviest feeling: that part of him wants this. Sebastian cares...

His name dangles from his neck, and his pen in his pocket.

“Yes.”


	6. Wake up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Sebastian have a 'ride' before reality lets them know they have unfinished business. (Stefano Valentini replaces Angelo Bronte)

He simply wrote in his journal next day: _I FUCKED him._ ‘cause there ain’t nothing more to it. Well nothing more he can _say_ about it...

He got the man upstairs; a small room, bodies up against the wall. No words; there ain’t any. Just that look, dark eyes flickering like embers in the light of a single candle; but to say that’s lust he ain’t knowin’, but desire- Maybe that’s his own. Just to run hands through dark hair; it’s gotten longer in those weeks. Arthur raked his fingers round the back of his skull up. Sebastian left his head soft; eyes flickered shut and mouth hung just slightly open. He had thin lips, but Arthur’s watching them intently, like there ain’t nothing else to focus on: how breath’s rollin’ panting out of them.

And he liked kissing that neck, biting down into it: skin’s soft beneath lips, elastic, so easily sucked in; he can even feel the pulse, rushed. And he ain’t thought Sebastian’ll be sounding like that or that the moaning of a goddamn man will have him harden. That ain’t a man thou, or at least it ain’t _any _man. Not to him and not now.

Sebastian unbuttons his shirt, suspenders slide down.

A fast motion: Arthur’s arms move from the head to pinning the man’s waist against the wall, his own hips moving forward. No words, a huff, a rushed exhale. Hands slide underneath the fabric, up on bare skin: it’s sweaty, muscle lean and firm under fingertips. He searches upwards, sliding palms along the side of the body, Sebastian dragging him closer in where he can hear the man’s breaths right against his ear. He’s doing that on purpose; he can almost see the smirk on his lips.

“Hard for me-”

Chin is pushed up with another kiss on the neck, on Adam’s Apple, sucking the breath outta him.

And Arthur ain’t aroused alone; Sebastian’s erect, unbuttoning his pants. Fingers work skilled even with the little space between the two of ‘em; then stop on the rim of Arthur’s trousers. One finger slides underneath, the thumb on the button. Then stops, lets Arthur grind himself upward once, against Sebastian’s free twitching cock.

“Open it already-” Impatient, harsh, his own hand slides down to help, but motions clash with each other, inefficient.

But it springs out soon enough. And when it does Sebastian pushed him just a bit away with one arm. Goddamn it- A frustrated groan, that Sebastian meets with guiding Arthur’s chin up to look at his face.

Man slides two fingers in his own mouth, then reaches down between his legs, lubing himself up with spit. And Arthur pushes him up, legs apart, around his waist. Cocks shove against each other; the knot in his navel tightens and throbs. Jesus Christ, he’s-

Another ball of spit from Sebastian’s hand to his anus, man bent over himself to reach the spot and it’s quite something to hold him and just watch: the way subtle moans bubble out, it sounds pained at first then mellowed out to sound sweeter. Arthur’s chest is tight, tingling in a way he ain’t remembering. And he almost forgets himself there if it weren’t for Sebastian propping himself up on his shoulders with one arm wrapped around him and a hand searching for Arthur’s cock.

“C’mon--” Sebastian urges and Arthur obliges. It’s more of a thrust in; not all that gentle. Teeth grit: “_Ungh-_” But man’s so tight he can’t help another thrust before the pained moans register: “_Fuck--_”

“Sorry-” Arthur breathes against him, easing up.

“Keep it slow... Agh- Fuck.”

It catches up with him and for a moment fear grips him so he don’t do nothing, sitting there, dick throbbing inside.

“Fuck you, Arthur-” With one arm still looped around his shoulders and another propping up on his abdomen Sebastian starts grinding himself slow up and down his cock, chin pressed to chest, moans staring to roll out again: “_Agh-_Fuck--”

He tries to meet the pace, despite the heat that flared up at his crotch, itching, urging him to move fast and harsh. It throbs and it’s almost painfully delicious how slow it’s going, muscles clenching around his girth.

“Aahhh...” this one’s his own, low, raspy and drawn out. “Keep on-”

Sebastian wraps his other arm around Arthur’s neck and keeps working with upward swings, soft gasps escaping with each motion. And his hands catch the rhythm and soon pick it up where Sebastian leaves it, drowning out moans on the man’s neck. He only now registers the smell: sweet, salty from sweat, stinging of cigarette smoke and a dash of alcohol; it smelled like sex. Arthur pushes him further against the wall for support, hands glued to his waist, holding him in place now, ‘cause now it’s time he thrusts up, steadier at first, longer and drawn out. Teeth come together and breath’s exhaled through barely parted lips, holding in the actual moans bubbling in the back of his throat and the feeling that he should just give up trying to be this gentle.

“Agh—Ahrthur-”

_Don’t say his name like that-_

Arthur leans further in, the next buck is heavy, making Sebastian gasp out. A slow draw out.

“_Arthur--_” it’s rougher and the man’s hands glide on his back and burry in his hair.

Composure’s lost. Thrusts go deep and fast and maybe both o’ them sound more like animals than actual people. He ain’t pretty, he ain’t decent, Sebastian’s both and it’s his mouth that hangs open with grunts and pants, gripping into his hair like tomorrow’s lost. And he may just be the only man. Sebastian’s hand sneaks between bodies and feverishly strokes his own erection:

“Fuu- agh- Hit higher-”

What? He slows down a moment to reconsider before hips buck somewhat underneath:

“There?-”

“Yes~”

Breaths’ all short, cut by other noises as pace picks up again, faster, harsher. What’s this man made of him. What’s made of him, ‘cause his chest feelin’ like sinking while bursting with flames-

Arthur can’t keep up the pace; he ignored it before, the sting in his left shoulder, but his arm’s gone numb now.

“I can’t—Seba-Ah.” Motions come to a halt, and he turns their bodies to the one bed cramped to their right.

Arthur tried bringing him down gentle, but it wasn’t quite that; he slips out.

“Shit! Sebastian I’m-” _sorry._

He ain’t got to say that, lips upon lips, Sebastian spins him round, pins him to the bed, breaks the kiss, leaving Arthur gasping for air. Legs part and the man sits back down on his cock with a held in moan, only shadowed by his own. Sebastian’s soon to make him a whore as a hand snuck up and fingers pinched one of his nipples, twisting it slowly between them. And no matter how he tried keeping it down within himself Arthur breaks out loud, shame not forgotten but shoved aside. A hand of his own tries to find its way down and stroke Sebastian’s cock as the least he could offer.

And oh, what a sight that was: with his head thrown back, body thrusting up and down, and his mouth moaning a semblance of his name, Arthur’s almost all completely lost, his own lips wide open.

Hand still works, squeezing, feeling the veins pulse underneath, at last deciding that he should press his thumb on the tip. He ain’t careful, lets it slips in circles. Sebastian bucks forward, grips his cock and Arthur’s hand both and strokes himself more furiously:

“AGH- C’mon, C’mon- Ah- _Arthur, fuck **C’mon**\- **AH!**_” Motion stops for a moment, body jerks, moans come out cut. “Ahhhh-” this one sounds almost soft, a long, drawn-out final stroke, letting all the cum drip onto their hands.

And Sebastian promptly wipes himself on Arthur’s chest, gets off of him.

“_Donchu-_” He comes down and those thin lips wrap around his shaft. The pressure builds up again and Arthur slides off from the bed just a bit, legs spreading out only a lil’ allowing Sebastian more room. “_Jesus Christ- Agh-_” Veins throb against lips, the knot keeps tying itself up in his navel, sweet and awfully itching to be let go- Hands find Sebastian’s face, head, sink into his hair. “_There-ah-_” His mouth’s so tight around his cock that one more slide of that tongue down the underside sends him into orgasm. “Ahhgh---”

Sebastian not only waits for all of it to come out, he sucks him dry and swallows it. There’s a cloth by the side of the table that’s used to wipe that poor fool Arthur clean. Limbs sprawled on the bed he’s nothing more than a panting mess.

_They fucked._

“Sweet mother of-” a hand, a clean hand, wipes down his face. What the hell’s he done he ain’t fucked for... 16 years?...

“Clean up.” Sebastian’s still huffing and when Arthur ain’t responsive to the request, man takes it upon himself to mop up the mess they made on his other hand.

It’s still sticky, but he springs up, and both arms bring Sebastian to him, to his mouth. He ain’t sure why he wanted that as bad, but here he is, laying down, dragging the man on top of him, just to feel him close and his rushed breath onto his lips. _Christ, _what’s he done to him.

“Sebastian...” whispered like a prayer.

Isaac was right about that happiness part.

The click of the door opening and a saddlebag getting thrown down is what wakes him up next morning. A yawn, a brush down the man’s back: Sebastian slept on his lap, head on Arthur’s shoulder, and both of them crammed in an armchair. And oh, he’s numb, but he don’t wanna wake Sebastian.

“Mornin’...” Isaac was up before them again, and he clearly went out grocery shopping, having just returned. “Whatchu up to, boy?”

“Provisions; think we was getting low on ‘em.” He unpacks half, for his father. “We ain’t been out much...”

They ain’t been... Arthur’s been getting sloppy in his old age, injured so much, letting the kid fend for himself and all that. Guilt grips him again.

“You a’right, Pa?”

Why’s he asking? ‘cause of Sebastian.

“Perfect.” A thin smile then a sigh. The boy ain’t stupid, he caught on. Now how’s he s’possed to break it to him. He shifts just a bit upwards, careful to carry Sebastian with himself: “Say, uhm... would you mind if Sebastian hung around more often.”

Boy’s eyes widen for a moment, lips part, then head bobs up and down: “No... No, not at all. He a’right?...”

“Yeah.” Yet another smile. “It’s a-”

“_Fuck!_” Sebastian’s somewhat muffled, yet still loud as he stretches out and groans, a hand reaching for his lower backside.

Isaac snorts, then succumbs to laughter: “Okay, got that.” He can barely stifle a laugh and Arthur can’t quite contain his embarrassment, shifts away, and Sebastian’s inches away from falling off in his half asleep daze.

“Guess we confessed our dirty lil’ secret then, but you old enough to know that Isaac.” He tried to sound confident.

“Well can’t say it ain’t a lil’ strange. Thought men only liked women, but he saved your life.”

Sebastian was not awake, muffling yet another groan: “What?”

“Go back to sleep-”Arthur chuckles.

A hum; the man twists up and Arthur’s bones and tendons pop underneath: “I would if you’d stop talking.”

“Su~re...”

Isaac looks at Arthur, at them both knowingly and as if both of them were stupid. But, well, ain’t that the truth. Son should be knowin’ his father was a miserable fool already. All them years, all them years and it’s still Isaac that somehow makes sense of the messes he ends up in. And there’s one thing he can say for sure: Sebastian cared for the kid.

“Watchu up to today?” Sebastian asks, stretching his arms above his head, pacing around the room barefoot, unsteady on them.

“Ain’t quite sure yet...” Arthur tries to sit up as well, stumbles backwards, ‘cause a full grown man slept all night on him. He’s all numb and sore. “Was thinkin’ of finding some real profession for Isaac.” The boy perked up.

“With your... _lifestyle_, I think you’d be quite qualified for bounty hunting.”

Arthur laughs at that loud: “Ain’t you wantin’ to know the price on _my_ head?”

“Ain’t thought you’re a wanted man, _Mr. Morgan._”

“_5000 dollars._” It almost sounded like boasting, the boy ain’t pleased.

Sebastian freezes up. “5000 dollars? For you?...”

“Maybe you can turn me in, get the money and run away-”

“_Pa!_”

“Dutch’ll get me out. Ol’ jeezer still needs me.” Ain’t that quite the shameful thought; but then everyone else needed Arthur too.

“Or _you_ could get a life with the boy.” Sebastian intervenes.

A scratch of the beard to hide the expression he makes:

“I...” A sigh. “I’ll try.”

Now what a smile blooms on Sebastian’s face as he turns to him: “I know.”

A deep breath in, a purse of lips and he returns the smile, sparing a gaze for Isaac as well: kid dangled his feet off the edge of the bed, looking cunning. He’d truly do anything for that boy, anything, and if he asked for it he’d bring him the world. But Isaac was mellow mannered and humble, like he remembered Eliza being and he ain’t sure that how he taught him to be.

“How ‘bout you, Sebastian? What you gonna do?”

“Return.” It came followed by a sigh.

“We’ll get you there.” Isaac is almost enthusiastic. “I asked for some maps at the store, and if bounties are at the police station, then your place’s on the way.”

“You brilliant kid.” Sebastian praised him and Isaac lit up in a smile.

Arthur’s feelin’ like one real lucky man right now, took out his journal for a moment.

_I FUCKED him. And I feel something’s changed for good._

They could of walked to the Molly-house, the same way the two of ‘em stumbled back after their lil’ rough’n tumble. Sebastian ain’t even got a horse with him so Arthur hands him Ghost while he and Isaac’ll be taking Big Sir together, the big boy can handle it. And it’s all horse talk from there on-

Sebastian stops suddenly.

“Arthur, I need to talk to someone.” He’s looking intently at the only man that’s looking like he lost his way going to the fancy saloon in Saint Denis.

Then the _mister_ finds him, approaches with long angry steps. Sebastian’s off the saddle; Arthur’s too.

“Stay out of this.” Sebastian growls at him.

Arthur says nothing, just hangs a lil’ behind, hand hovering over the pistol’s grip.

The _mister_ notices them, shoots them a glare, and, despite his attempt at keeping it sushed, Arthur and Isaac hear it all:

“_Where_ have _you_ been?”

“Recovering.” Sebastian’s sentences are short, acidic. “You brutalized the shoulder too much, it got infected.” Arthur’s skin crawls, _him,_ a client?... more times? How many more... for what sick reason?... He’s boiling and almost as if sensing it; Isaac jumps down from Big Sir soon after. Arthur stops his son with one hand.

“And who are these men?”

“_Friends._”

The mister inhales deeply, shoots one more glance at Arthur and Isaac; back at Sebastian: “I will be seeing you tonight. Same as always-”

“I’m afraid not.” Sebastian cuts him off, stern.

“_Excuse me?_”

“I have the right to refuse someone and my health’s quite precarious.”

“300.”

“No.”

“_350._”

“No.”

“_500 dollars, Sebastian._”

“I ain’t about to give up the only thing keepin’ me alive, Mr. Valentini.”

Arthur makes steps, stands right by Sebastian: “Kindly back off, mister.” Hand is on the pistol, and the man gets the hint.

But not without a threat: “I own this city, Sebastian. I get what I want.”

“Mister.” Arthur insists, unholstering the gun, without lifting it.

One heavy silence later, man leaves with steps just as heavy.

“_He_ did that to you?” Arthur lets concern get in his tone.

“The body’s a commodity. I needed the money.” Sebastian turns and dares leave; he grabs the man’s arm and drags him back, spinning him ‘round.

Not scolding: “What changed?...’

“You know damn well what changed, Arthur.” Sebastian snarls. “Don’t play fool.”

He lets him go, probably looking most heartbroken. It’s on the tip of his tongue; a glance back to Isaac and he gains courage; it’s barely above a whisper:

“Come back to camp. They knows you.”

Sebastian looks away, inhales as if ready for a sigh, but holds that breath in, bows his head: “I’ll... I’ll see what’s there to be done. You go get that bounty.”

“Come with us-” Isaac butts in; boy’s been eavesdropping. _Goddamnit!_

“Ain’t that easy, kid.” And still man dares smile: “I’ll see you. And keep your Pa outta trouble, ‘kay, Isaac.”

“Yes, sir...”

Arthur lays a hand on the boy’s shoulder and Isaac purses his lips in a motion that reminds of his father. A pat there, then they’re off again.

“You okay there?”

Isaac sits quiet.

“Isaac?”

“It’s... a bit weird.” Isaac puffs out. “Feel like I get it and I don’t... Why did Sebastian let the man hurt him... He did right?”

“He did.”

“Why?...”

“Guess some people have sick hobbies and the money to pay for ‘em.” It’s a growl.

Isaac nods: “He gonna be fine?”

_Maybe_ – it hangs off his lips, but the boy needs the optimism: “With us around, he’ll be.” They’re almost at the police station to pick up a bounty: “Now let’s see just how good we are at putting bastards back in their place.”

But the moment they set foot inside said building, Arthur rushes forward: Abigail’s at the desk.

“I cannot disclose that information, Ma’am, I’m sorry.” The officer says.

“I understand, sir. Good day- Arthur?”

“What happened...” He feels she wouldn’t be here otherwise.

She grabs his arm and drags him outside; her voice is strained from anger and tears: “A certain Stefano Valentini has Jack. The Braithwaite woman took him and gave it to him. Yesterday.”

“No... _NO!_” Arthur huff like an angered beast. “Let’s get the kid back. Where’s Dutch?”

They just met this Mr. Valentini...


	7. Revolt and Renounce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian tries to help in the rescue of Jack, but things are further complicated by Stefano knowing both Arthur and Isaac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erotic mutilation makes a comeback.

He thought of Arthur sucking that man off.

He thought of Arthur; how he pinned that outlaw down on the bed. He remembered that look Arthur gave: long, thin strands of auburn hair drawn messily over his face, eyes glossed over, gaze sweet, awed and that mouth let to hang open. Those lips of his, square, yet full when he don’t purse them in a thin line, were quite the sight; in part ‘cause he ain’t seen someone with a mouth that damn pretty, the rest ‘cause it made Sebastian want to shove his cock down it.

But now Sebastian’s lips are ‘round someone else’s girth; he ain’t all that careful, man was moaning hard enough to sound satisfied. For 20$ that’s all he’s getting.

He kept thinking of Arthur. Underneath him. Or above him. It didn’t matter. It felt raw; the way rough and tender Arthur kissed and bitt his neck while Sebastian was still grabbing him by the collar. He wanted that; ‘cause it ain’t making him feel hollow. A body ain’t ever meant much; somehow back then it did.

It was always physical with him; he grabbed Arthur, pulled Arthur, dragged Arthur in – and Arthur pulled him out, touched his wounds... And Arthur _fucked him_; did it with charm, lifted him up against the wall like he was barely some bag of groceries-

The client cummed in his mouth; Sebastian swallows and pulls away. He’s hard, pants tight; not for this feller thou.

“Ohh—I wish my wife blew like that.” The man was a mess on the bed.

“What a shame...” Sebastian smiles as courtesy.

“Oh, she’s bland, mister. Plainest. But Pop said I gotta take a wife.” Man drags his pants up. “But she’s a nice woman. Wants kids.”

“Mhm...”

He sits up, tone overly sweet: “You ain’t plain, mister.”

Sebastian chuckles: “Don’t get over your head.”

“No no...” He sounded disappointed. “Is just, ye’r pretty. Handsome.”

“Get outta here.” He tries hard to play the flirty banter game, but it ain’t coming out quite as it should.

Why would it matter if Arthur thought he’s handsome...

An odd thought. He lets the man go downstairs first, before he climbs down himself-

“Arthur?...” The cock’s still hard between his legs and it twitches at the thought.

“He got Jack-” Isaac rushes at him; Sebastian pulls away.

_Who?_

“Valentini.” Arthur completes the sentence. “Valentini got Jack.” That man never sounded as angry.

Sebastian’s face changes to what must be a terrifying grimace, ‘cause Isaac slips away.

“Would you tell me where he lives.”

“You won’t go there.” Sebastian cuts him, harsh. The wounds Stefano gave him were gentle, and the man owns the city.

“Dutch’ll go. And John.” Arthur insisted. “_But I need to know-_”

“Flavian Street; the big mansion, opposite the park.” And just as Arthur was to pull away, he grabs him by the collar spins him round. “Don’t you get involved in this, you hear- Don’t you _dare_.”

He knows both Arthur and Isaac at this point and if _any of ‘em_ get involved, either dragged by Dutch or something else Sebastian fears he ain’t gonna see the end of this. Or maybe he will, but not as himself and he ain’t knowing what’s scarier: dying or losing the chance of being someone again.

“And what will you do...” Arthur’s got his own concerns and the 4 other people in the saloon at this time stop to watch.

“Hopefully, my best.” _A lie._ The thoughts cooking up in his head are all but possibly the worst idea he’s had.

He lets go, but Arthur doesn’t. There’s words behind those lips, but they’re sealed shut so tight he thinks they ain’t ever gonna see the light of day. And somehow, he has a hunch as to what the man wanted to say, and that’s ‘cause they just got up on their feet, and for one day it almost felt hopeful. But fate ain’t about to give Sebastian that. And he dragged this man _and his son_ along with it.

“I’ll make sure you get the boy back.” Sebastian had to say something to break this tension; cock’s gone flacid in the meantime, and still the way Arthur gripped him threatened to have gotten it hard again if the situation were any different. “I’ll see you back at camp.”

And he wished those words were true; the smile was practiced.

“Why are _you_ here?” One of Stefano’s men almost pointed a gun at him. “Thought you said no.”

“Changed my mind.”

“And you think it works that way.”

Sebastian looks up: there he was, Stefano sitting on the upstairs balcony with what looked like a glass of expensive wine tipped between fingers. Man raises the glass and even though he can’t see that far Sebastian knows he’s grinning, just before he shouts:

“Let him in!”

And in he’s let, then escorted upstairs to Stefano.

“Lucian is right. Why are you here, Sebastian?” The wine is twirled inside the glass before a sip is taken.

“I have a request.” Heart drummed in his chest.

The gulp is audible: “Oh?” Glass is set down. “And what would that be?”

“Erase someone’s bounty.”

Stefano chuckles: “I’m not the government.” And he spares a glance for Sebastian, eyeing him up and down, then returns to admiring the view: “But I _can_ pull some strings.” And then the man sits up: “Just one question, _dear_ old Sebastian. _Why?_ Is it for the same reason that man and his son stood in when I came to see you. I hope you’re aware you’re a terrible liar.”

Sebastian simply had his lips pressed together and his chest out trying not to breathe too loudly or to simply break out in a fit of rage.

“But I’m still curious, what’s it about that outlaw that makes him attractive. I _know_ he runs with Van der Linde. Yes, I have one of those sheep-fucker’s _offspring._ They came ‘round and asked. You sent them here didn’t you?” Stefano puffs with a grin, presses two fingers to his lips, taps and pins Sebastian, the quiet, stiff, unshaken Sebastian, with another gaze: “But I have to say, this is quite entertaining. _You_ came begging to me. Or well as close to begging as those sealed lips of yours will come to.”

Stefano passes by him, purposefully on the right side so he can tap the shoulder he so much loves to brutalize.

“I’ll play your little game, Sebastian. I’ll look into your little cowboy _friend._” And the man draws away, returning to his office, but not before: “Oh, and you’re free to _try_ and escape, but I think you’re smart enough to know you won’t exactly be going out anymore. So make yourself at home, darling.”

It’s not home, but he lit a cigarette in the middle of the downstairs living, lounged on the couch like he owned the place. Was there mud on his boots? He doesn’t care, they’re on the cushions.

Small steps trot in; Sebastian huffs out the smoke he held in his chest to look over the back of the sofa:

“Sebastian?”

He smiles.

“Hi there, Jack.”

“You came to stay with Papa Valentini too.”

_Don’t call him that..._

A quick draw of the cigarette: “Yeah...” but he’ll avoid that question: “How’s your reading these days, Jack?”

“Uhhhh...” the kid rolls his eyes back, then they dart across the room: “Will you tell Momma and Uncle Hosea that I don’t like reading? ‘cause I don’t.”

“Isaac likes reading.” Sebastian insists, standing up and coming closer; and by God Isaac tried to make the kid read, told him everything of the Knights of the Round Table. King Arthur, huh?

“Isaac’s different.” Jack pouts. “Isaac’s old.”

“He’s still just a kid.”

“No, he’s not.”

“He still plays with you, doesn’t he?”

“He does...” Jack muses. “But he’s always away. He’s busy with Uncle Arthur and Uncle Dutch. And Papa.” Well John was hardly the parent, but Sebastian knows he loved his son and could bet that the moment he got taken away he raised Hell. That’s a parent’s love.

Sebastian crinkles his nose: “Say, would you like to play with me? We’re gonna surprise Momma with how smart you’ve become, what you say?”

“Yeah!”

One hour. Two. Three. It gets dark and there keeps being a shiver up his spine and down his arms as if he’s cold, but the air is hot and muggy like it’s always been in St. Denis.

Stefano moved in to sit across from them, legs crossed, gloved hands folded neatly in his lap. And Sebastian stiffened, Jack noticed, ‘cause he clutched him harder, while trying to teach him the animals.

Lucian came in at one point: “_Signor_ Valenitni? Dutch van der Linde is back.”

“Oh, perfect.”

Jack perked up: “Uncle Dutch!?”

Stefano opens the door and the kid runs out like a dog on the hunt. Sebastian can only watch from inside; he doesn’t want to make it worse for Arthur- and there he was, Isaac in tow. So Stefano asked them for something-

He overhears the conversation:

“_Signor_ Van der Linde, would you by any chance be interested in a social meeting with the upstanding citizens for this city?” He eyes Arthur, even if the man stood ways away, still in the saddle. John had the child in his arms, head pressed to the chest.

And with that Sebastian smells a trap.

That Dutch fell face first into: “O’course.”

They leave; Sebastian’s left alone with Stefano; a pang hollows his guts and a shiver runs up his spine.

Stefano lets Lucian close the door behind him: “I’m really curious to see what your little cowboy does at the ball when he sees you~”

A deep breath in to gather courage: “Then wait and see.”

“Oh, seems you’ve gotten cocky?”

“I do bite.”

Stefano hums almost as if aroused: “I’d _love_ to see that, darling.”

He never penetrated Stefano, or have it the other way around, but the man fucked Sebastian in more ways; other ways. The downstairs bedroom with the red sheets, always stained and smelling of blood; his blood. Man was _sick,_ always asking the same thing: half dressed, cutting himself up, moaning in pain, because it got him hard. And he saw Stefano come completely undone in those days ‘till that party.

It might have looked like the work of a doctor, precise and clean: a long line stretched down the middle of his chest, above the bone and only the bone, with the purpose of drawing blood and looking pretty. It _fucking hurt._ He bent on his elbows shuddering, while Stefano pleased himself, snapping shots to the wet sound of masturbation. _Sebastian hated it._ Other times it was bearable ‘cause he got to get away. Now he’s here; no escaping. Yet. And Stefano strung him up, tied his feet, bound his hands, stabbed his shoulder, bruised his knuckles, his knees, his face, cut his lips, his temples.

He went numb; jaw, limbs trembling without even wanting to, vision blurring, head emptying and his self feeling entirely detached from the body just so he couldn’t feel it anymore.

But he _thought_, all those endless hours he _thought_ of a way to get the fuck out of this place. There’s going to be a party and Stefano’s gonna get him there just to entertain some sick idea of a tragedy like he was some British Monarch. And Stefano sure as hell ain’t Shakespeare so Sebastian could be his Romeo or Macbeth.

He’s gonna get out. He thought of it long and hard and it had to work.

He was still bruised when Stefano handed him the suit he was to wear; a top hat as well to hide the marks on his face. But it wouldn’t matter much. Lucian ain’t seen when Sebastian slipped a knife underneath the seam of his pants, that he then dangled loosely by a string attached to the suspenders. It grazed his leg, but he didn’t care. Jaw was clenched from all other pains; some more cuts ain’t mattering.

And in one more sloppy act Stefano left his precious camera idle and Sebastian free for barely a moment-

Sebastian was brought to the balcony at the Mayor’s house, along with other friends of his that he only spoke in Italian with. Sebastian didn’t understand much, but whenever one of them or ever Stefano for that matter tried to talk English to him he would reply in Spanish. He was brought up American but his Daddy taught him his mother tongue.

“Ah, there they are, the angry cowboys~” Stefano was most pleased with himself. It hurt biting that lip like he did but he couldn’t look at Arthur’s expression as he came onto the balcony.

Still he looked; the confusion, the betrayed, _the heartache_, then the flame that lit up when the man pursed his lips. Dutch only spared Sebastian a distrustful look before going on to converse with Dutch.

It’s small steps: from Arthur, from Sebastian. Arthur lights a cigar, lips wrapped around the girth while hands look for a light. The hat probably hid his face well enough that it’s only now, more upclose that Arthur finally notices the cuts and bruises, and his features slack then draw together even angrier.

Sebastian puts a hand on his free wrist- don’t he do anything rash.

But it ain’t seeming like Arthur was intending to. Instead he fumed in silence watching Stefano introduce the profiles of the St. Denis high society: the Mayor, Alberto Fussar, Evelyn Miller, Rains Fall. The way Stefano talked, as if he owned the universe of this city had even Dutch speechless, features slacked, offended.

“Maybe one day you’ll kill him for me-”

“We ain’t paid killers as such...”

“Oh, I am sorry-” Stefano wasn’t as openly amused now; the dark grin slipped in. “But you do need money don’t you.”

Arthur drew in a sharp breath.

“Yes.” Dutch said.

“It’s a setup...” Arthur said it on a sigh, a whisper, to Sebastian. And he wanted to say more but lips fell shut.

“You didn’t hear it from me but there’s plenty cash at the trolley station.” Stefano keeping musing to Dutch, drawing him in. “But do enjoy your party, fine gentlemen.”

Stefano draws closer in to the pair of them, arranging his gloves as if they slipped- Sebastian lets go, leaning in for barely a moment:

“Me encargaré de esto.” He knew Arthur didn’t understand a thing, but he’s hoping that’s enough to put the man’s mind a bit at ease

“Arthur!” Dutch beacons, and Arthur follows diligently downstairs, one more stolen look.

He’s sore when moving so he doesn’t do much of it; he’s waiting for the fireworks. For now he watches Arthur from the balcony, he slips into the crowd, to gather information, same as Dutch, Hosea and that Bill.

And there’s the fireworks. A glance at Stefano, before Sebastian heads down the stairs

“_Sebastian._” The man’s voice is stern, scolding, maybe even frightening.

Something compels him to smile and pretend he didn’t understand: “¿Perdóneme?” And he keeps descending, step rigorous.

It’s loud and crowded; Stefano comes after him himself, fists clenched. That camera he pocketed is taken out right when he knew that the man’ll see it, walking towards the dock, where the crowd’s thinned. He hears Stefano calling him out, walking harsher.

As much as his torn body lets him Sebastian jumps in the boat docked there, untied the rope, but doesn’t depart yet, until he’s sure Stefano’s one foot away. Camera is dangled above the water.

“You think that’s a threat? I can always get a new one-”

Oops. Sebastian drops it, and it sinks to the depths of the lake.

“You seem pretty threatened.” Stefano puffs his chest out, jaw clenched. “Come on in.”

“_Sebastian-_” Teeth clatter onto each other and Stefano jumps on the boat.

With all the strength he has Sebastian pushes the boat off the shore and starts rowing. Stefano falls down, from the sound of it like it’ll leave a bruise. But he ain’t caring. No he ain’t caring at all. Sebastian keeps rowing as hard as he can. One short glance at the people of the party: they ain’t looking.

One hand slides under his pants to grab the knife, just as Stefano, bare handed and filled with rage stumbles up and forwards to strangle him. Sebastian’s numb to the pain, to the fact that he sliced up his own thigh lifting the weapon.

It’s swift, harsh, filled with hate. One short grunt from him.

Blade sticks clean into the skull, poking right underneath the jaw. Stefano goes numb with barely a wheeze. Eyes stare blankly forward as the body slumps on top of him.

Sebastian can breathe again; shakes the hands that pinned him off himself, blood gushes onto him, onto the boat. It’s warm and tastes like fucking revenge; it’s sweet and salty like expensive caramels. Rows are taken back into his arms so he keeps on traversing the lake. The throbbing of his torn thigh starting at last to sting. The fireworks die down not long after.

Body’s thrown in the swamp.

And Sebastian should row back to the mansion. Maybe he can still meet up with Arthur... and the rest-

That’s the shore there. Not much further to row-

He can’t walk. He can’t get out of the boat; falls face first in the mud just by the side of the road.

A coach stops. He recognizes those voices. Ah... here’s hoping...


	8. Purgatory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An attempt to solve the problems created by Valentini's death and Sebastian's stay, only to find there's other trouble lurking.

This mess keeps on spinning them, keeps on going and going and going. And he’s growin’ afraid. So terribly afraid of what’s there yet to come; for Isaac, for them all. And this whole thing where Dutch keeps pushing when they just barely escaped the end of a rope feels foolish and impatient.

They’re dying...

And what better metaphor for that than picking up a dying Sebastian off the side of the road after they stole the Mayor’s letters and were planning to rob a bank and some high stakes poker game.

They got the man upstairs, back at Shady Belle. And what a debacle that was. _He had to let Isaac_ handle it, while the rest of them got to bringing Jack back. Yeah, Charles was with him, and there was only 4 squatters left, but _Christ..._ They moved ‘cause the Pinkertons came through again, knowin’ their location. Him and John was robbing cemeteries for Stefano Valentini and Dutch talked off Agent Milton who was ready to bring no less than 50 men to mow the lot of ‘em down.

Then in 2 days Tilly got stolen away and Isaac insisted he ride along. Tilly ain’t much older than him... They played dominoes together; Isaac tried and made her a dolly once... And to see the boy unhinged like that.

He apologized.

Arthur put his hands on the boy’s shoulders: “I just want you to be better than I was, Isaac.”

Boy looked down, away. A lil’ shake.

“You get me, boy? Not this. You ain’t this.”

But there ain’t nothing left beside this, not for them. They’re pushed back into a corner and Dutch’s going feral...

And now he’s here...

Sebastian was barely half conscious when they brought him into the building; he fought the alcohol, and if Arthur ain’t been there to pin him to the bed he’d of fought the stitches Grimshaw made on him as well. She asked if he wanted her to sit by him. He said yes. Boy slept in Susan’s arms that night, Arthur on the table.

Dutch came talk to him in the morning, about how he’s been smelling home, somewhere. They almost got all the money they needed. Arthur ain’t quite sure ‘bout that part, but what he’s sure of is the concern the man had for him then. Sat with him, brought him something to eat; Arthur’s been forgetting all too often. His wrists were growin’ thin.

“Want one?” Dutch stretched the packet of cigarettes his way, having one already between his lips.

“I ain’t in the mood for it right now, thanks.” One more glance at Sebastian; he’s still sleeping.

Dutch lit his cigarette as a means to say ‘_suit ye’rself’,_ then kept talking, after a deep inhale and a puff out: “You really do like him.”

Arthur just hummed as response.

“I’m... sorry, Arthur.” Dutch continued. “If I ever came off as stuck up to you or him. Was just worried.” A sigh. “Worried all these people’ll be pulling us, the family of us, apart. Can’t you see how they’re trying to?”

Arthur remained silent; and it ain’t ‘cause he ain’t believin’ him. He just got a lot of thoughts and half of them were fighting the other half; a lil’ Civil War inside his head.

“We’re so close to the end now, Arthur.” A pat on the back. “We’re gonna see it through-”

“It’s been 20 years, Dutch...”

Man took offense at that and the tone ain’t been as comforting as before: “Have a bit of faith, son. We’re gonna see it through.” Another pat on the back, firmer this time. “I’m gonna go see about that trolley station Signor Valentini told us about.”

“It’s- What if it’s a set-up?”

“That’s what I’m gonna find out.”

And Arthur’s left alone with his thoughts yet again. A sigh as head’s flung into his palms, face rubbed thoroughly. What a goddamn mess; and he’s sitting ‘round, doing nothing. He should find the kid and get on those bounty hunts he promised.

But part o’ him just ain’t got the strength.

“Ughhh-_ACH!_” Sebastian grits his teeth trying to stand up.

“Seba-” up he goes, to his side.

“_Arthur._”

“What the hell you do-”

“I killed Valentini.” He spits the name out like it was poison.

It takes a moment to register: “What?...”

“I fucking killed him.” Sebastian coughs from the effort. Arthur sits on the edge of the bed, still looking at him. “Bastard had it coming...”

So all those wounds were from that Stefano.

“Well you back at camp now.”

“This ain’t Clemens Point...”

“Had to move. Pinkertons...”

“Ah...”

It’s Arthur that takes the man’s hand, gingerly caressing the back of it, thumb rubbing over protruding veins. Sebastian hums at the touch.

“You a’right?” he asks. “And Isaac? Jack?”

“Jack’s fine. Isaac... Kid’s had it hard... But he’s gonna make a fine bounty hunter...”

Sebastian squeezed his hand:

“And you?...”

Silence for a moment, then a sigh: “Worried.” Arthur lets his head fall forward.

It’s on his heart, it’s on his tongue, but for some reason he ain’t got the courage to tell the man he missed him. He’s always been good on the kid, good on him... and he might just have saved them from whatever the hell Valentini had in store for them. Or maybe he made it worse. No matter... What’s done is done...

And he knew he did all that for them. Sebastian could have just... not gotten involved. _But he did,_ _and look where it’s brought ‘im._

Arthur ain’t no goddamn savior, but he’s gonna try. A hand waves up, a scratch of the beard, a touch of the necklace. A sigh.

“You’re still wearing it.” Sebastian’s voice is almost sweet.

“ ‘Course I am.” He replies without thinking. Another touch upon the engravings. _Saint Sebastian. Pray for us._ “I care ‘bout you.”

It’s a wheezed sigh from Sebastian as he tries to stand more upright; hands try to stead him:

“I thought of you-” And in that moment he sounded like Mary, as if the words came from what he hoped or dreamed was love.

And Arthur has to remind himself that he’s been through all these thoughts before, through all these motions, of holding him and getting held. And it ain’t out of shame that he ain’t all that affectionate... It’s ‘cause he’s doubting himself, and it ain’t about the queer part – he fucked him already; Arthur just ain’t all that worthy of love. And all these... That Sebastian went through _all that_ just cause this fool happened to be himself seemed like such a cruel fate and one he ain’t quite knowin’ what to do about...

“I thought of you...” Arthur said at last; holds him closer. “I goddamn thought of you, thought you’d come back here.” It pours out, then he stops, lips pursing together as if he said too much already. “But you never did... And then I saw you back there and I-”

“I know.” Sebastian cuts him but voice is grim and hands squeeze together again. “I know.”

“Bastard; I missed you.” There he said that.

Sebastian draws nearer and Arthur leans in, forehead to forehead.

“_Arthur._”

“Don’t you say it like that-”

“_Why?_” breath rolls from Sebastian’s thin lips out onto his cheek.

_Christ-_

“ ‘cause I end up wanting to-”

“_Besame~_” Sebastian bumps his nose into his own.

He ain’t knowin’ what that means but he ain’t even given the time to ask an answer. Lips onto lips the next moment. It’s somewhat sweet and somewhat rough, ‘cause he ain’t knowin’ what to do with his own goddamn mouth, and it’s salty as dried blood becomes wet again. And whatever force drew him in before, draws him in now: to push up against Sebastian, tongue unwillingly slipping between lips and to that the man moans. A guttural noise rumbles out from deep within his chest as response; hands go up to cup Sebastian’s face.

Then he pulls away, just a moment.

Thumbs run through thick, long beard, up his sideburns towards the cheeks. Eyes are closed, all he knows is touch.

Another stolen kiss, leaning ever further in, Sebastian underneath him. But that was a sound of pain.

Again, they part.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.”

He stays there, to stare at him. There’s fire in those dark brown eyes, ‘cause he’s stubborn, like a buck in a wolf’s teeth. Skin’s shaped by age and grimaces of pain and rage: eyebrows drawn together even when soft, the creases on his nose from all the snarling he’s been doing. Tanned skin’s black and blue now. Man fought... And he’s still in pain-

“Does it hurt?...”

Sebastian doesn’t reply, shifts away. And so does Arthur; lets him lay onto the bed. But man pins his hands in place when he wanna take them away:

“Don’t you let go-” He doesn’t, lets Sebastian’s face rest into the cup of his palm and head turns, nose bumping against his thumb. “Arthur... You happen to be all I got left.”

Lips get pushed together: “I ain’t worth that much-”

Sebastian grabs his collar: “To me.”

Such a visceral feelin’ grips him just like all of what Sebastian was; makes him clutch that face between his palms, caress it, inhale deeply. He ain’t worth much, let alone be the sole reason someone’s still alive. They found each other barely breathing, and what a goddamn mess that seems to of made of both o’them. They ain’t meant to be here, and still they were and here’s Sebastian, fists cuffed in is shirt pulling him in and under. And Arthur’s ready to sink in, dip down and kiss him again. He ain’t meant to desire but he can’t make heads or tails of all this and all this physicality between them makes him feel good... So he does lean in, to run a finger down the browned scab on the man’s chest. What pains he must of endured all those days he ain’t seen him; it feels like it’s his fault. Guilt pang inside his guts – along with something else, ‘cause Sebastian shivers under touch.

It’s softer this time when he asks: “Does it hurt?...”

A pause then: “Not when you touch it like that...”

“Can I-” His hands want to roam that body, touch it tenderly so it ain’t hurting. Fingers slip underneath, opening up the buttons; but Arthur’s watching the man’s face as he does so. Sebastian’s eyes flutter shut and lips part, the faintest gasp. Thumbs press over firm skin, run down the man’s chest, then to the sides. And Arthur’s entire being spurts with a cold, electric shiver, that then blooms warm from deep within his chest; repeat. Goosebumps on his skin. It feels good touching him like this...

He leans further in, until breath fawns over Sebastian’s neck, and despite smelling like blood, that musky scent that’s made him hard before’s still there. And hands keep running lower, feeling the scabs, the hardened bruises, the muscles-

Mouth dries up, lips almost threaten to go down, but he don’t, not yet.

“I’m gonna get you out.” A whisper and it sounded like a promise. “You and the kid, I’m gonna get you out-”

Door swings open, then immediately a shriek:

“_Jesus Christ! Ain’t thought it was for real._” John. He pulls back. “_Jesus! Arthur!_”

Arthur stands straight up, squares his shoulder, voice harsh: “Keep it down, Marston!”

John becomes meek, pushes the plate he had in his hands forward: “Pearson sent me with food, said you weren’t eating enough and urhm, for Sebastian.”

A deep sigh; he takes the plates, offers one to a dishelmed Sebastian and keeps one for himself. A first bite; the rich stew flavor fills all corners of his mouth. If it weren’t for the scare he might have not forgotten ‘bout the discussion. And how this all tied up to John as well...

“John.” He puts the plate down. “Listen here.”

“What-”

“Listen. You get your kid, your woman, and you go. When the chance comes up you gotta go.”

“Arthur... What-... What ‘bout loyalty?... I- What’s gotten into you?” A gaze spared for Sebastian. “_Him?_”

An exaggerated sigh: “Your kid’s got taken and you’re thinkin’ o’ loyalty? We been loyal, look where it’s gotten us. _You got a family, John._ And it’s about time it comes first.” 

John steps backwards, rubs the back of his neck:

“Shit, Arthur- I mean I ain’t thought about it like that...” He sits down; Sebastian’s quietly eating in the corner, on the bed. “I know I said that Jack ain’t chose this life. And Dutch. He keeps talking about something beyond this, but I don’t know. Feels like there’s no end to this.”

Arthur purses his lips, gets a seat for himself as well, next to Sebastian.

“You really think there’s an end?” John’s gotten serious.

“Dunno.” Arthur’s gotta be honest; he’s been doubting it himself: “But I’m gonna try.”

“You think Dutch’s been lying to us all these years.”

Arthur gets back up again; it don’t sit right with him: “Don’t know what to think no more; Dutch, all o’ us.” A scratch of the beard. “But I ain’t letting Isaac become an outlaw.”

And Sebastian.

So there’s gotta be some way outta this.

There’s a glimmer of new-found resolution in John’s eyes: “Yeah.” He gets up, slapping his knees, and then finds himself speechless looking at Arthur and Sebastian. And as if the discussion from before never happened: “Jesus! I still can’t quite get it what you find in a man, Arthur-”

It’s a chuckle but tone’s as serious as himself: “If you ever say that again I’m gonna kill you.”

“A’right!” John shrieks in defeat, wants to get out, then stop: “Still... uhm, rest well you two. I guess...”

He gets out. Arthur turns to Sebastian:

“Can you believe I grew up with that moron-”

“_I heard that!_”

“Calm down, Marston!” Arthur beacons in return, then sighs, a wheezed chuckle. “He’s like a brother to me.”

“Good thing I never had siblings.” Sebastian smirks.

Laughter bursts out of him: “Ah... Sebastian I wanna take you huntin’ again.”

“Let’s go-”

“Not like _that._”

“Where have I heard that before?” No don’t bring that back up; Arthur scoffs.

Conversation’s cut short by commotion outside. Long steps taken to the balcony and Sebastian tries to follow, staggering onto his feet. He’d stop him if worry wouldn’t keep him moving forward.

Hosea and Abigail were back, and he ain’t ever seen such a frown on that old man’s face.

“Where’s Dutch?” Hosea says.

“He went scouting for that trolley station.” Micah replies promptly.

“Bring him back, _now._”

“On it, boss.”

“Oi, what’s the matter?” Sean came as if woken from the dead.

“Valentini’s been found murdered.”

“But that ain’t been us?”

“No. But we’re their best bet and the Pinkertons already know we’re in the area and now I fear they’ll sniff us out again.”

“Gotta get downstairs-” Arthur tells Sebastian, passing by him and the man tries to stagger behind. Oh, he can’t see him like that- “C’mon.” An arm around the waist and the other hoisted over the shoulder Arthur walks, or more like drags, the other with him out, before letting go.

Isaac runs to him and a firm hand’s placed on the boy’s shoulder.

“Arthur.” Hosea strides to him. “What you think of all this-”

“Shouldn’t we let Dutch decide on it?” Arthur ain’t made for this kind of responsibility.

“Yes, but what are you thinking about who or for what wanted Valentini-”

“I did it.” Sebastian speaks up. Hosea frowns again, but the man doesn’t back down: “He tortured me to get himself off for days. He knew about you. And Isaac-”

And Hosea harshens, even if only for a brief moment, but his fury scares him, and Sean and everyone around.

“I can’t criticize _your_ action as I would have ‘cause you’re not part of this gang. At least not quite. Not _yet._ But you might have just put _all of us_ in danger with that. And I want you to think on it, Sebastian.” It’s a threat, but not nearly as overt as half the gang might have put it. “Guess we’ll either have to keep quiet, real quiet, for a while, or find someplace else. And fast.”

“I could go looking-” Arthur tried.

“No, I wouldn’t send you out again; we might need the fire power... But let’s see what Dutch says.”

“I say we do nothing.” Dutch wasn’t pleased with _any_ of it, and it seemed like what hurt most was the fact that he just got wind of money ready to be stolen and now he ain’t allowed to get near ‘em. “We lie low. We send people scouting ahead for a new place, to look for any sign of the Pinkertons and we lie low.” Dutch leans over the table, looking intently at the map; Hosea was quiet. “Micah, Bill, Sean. You go up Roanoke Ridge, looking for a place. Arthur, you, Isaac and Charles look through the Bayou see if you can find anything.” The look Dutch gave him then, as if he knew he’d protest; Arthur didn’t. Not yet. “I’ll keep a lookout on here. See what I can do...”

Sebastian will come with them, ‘cause he ain’t leaving the man behind, not again. And he trusts Charles.

They left just some hours later, and rode until sunset; and it was almost uncharacteristically quiet, of all of ‘em. For Sebastian he knew man was in pain and he ain’t really the chatty type; Isaac’s in a tough spot, poor kid. He ain’t been able to get much outta him these past days, but he wished he could. And Charles; man was usually quiet ‘round everyone else, but not really ‘round him and that tipped him off to something.

They rode up until they found a small abandoned village by the looks of it. Lakay was written on a sign nearby.

No one said a word.

“Guess we should stop here for tonight.” Arthur sighed. “Charles? Help me set up the camp.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll get out the fishing rods.” Isaac dismounted.

And Sebastian tried as well; the groan was audible and the shake in his arms and body was goddamn visible and it made a pit inside his guts. He can’t rid of the guilt: he’s got the man here ‘cause he was a big goddamn fool and got himself shot, almost killed and left the kid almost fatherless. Lips purse:

“Take care there...” Arthur says, to Sebastian, who made steps to join Isaac on the edge of the water.

That lil’ smile... “Yeah.”

When head whips back to arranging the wood for the fire he catches Charles looking at him with... _an expression_. Then man lowers his gaze. Mouth’s dry again and he’s reminded of John and how he took that, ‘cause he ain’t been together with Sebastian in camp.

They held hands that one time...

And the pen. It’s still in his pocket.

“Hold it firm, Isaac.” Sebastian talked loud over the sound of his boy struggling to reel in a fish.

“What’s he caught!?” Arthur beacons.

“Heard there was big sturgeons here!” Sebastian answers.

“We’re gonna be feastin’ like kings tonight.” A chuckle.

Sebastian’s attention is back to Isaac: “Pull!”

And Arthur returns to his job, Charles’ look almost incessant by now:

“What’s it with you?” It ain’t harsh or scolding.

“Nothing...” Charles averts his gaze. “What you think of this place? Think this could serve as a camp?”

“Well place looks deserted, it’s pretty darn deep in the swamps; ain’t thinking they’ll come lookin’ for us here.”

“We’re running out of places to hide.”

“You tellin’ me...”

“I heard what you told John today.”

_Shit-_

“You should leave too, Arthur.” Charles continues, yet soundin’ so hopeless.

“You better do so ye'rself.”

“That’s of no importance-”

“You’re a good man, Charles.” Arthur cuts him. “You can get ye’rsefl a future that’s more than robbin’ and killin’.”

“Hm...” Charles takes out the flint to light the fire. “You changed, Arthur.”

“Dunno ‘bout that.” His head bends down as he gets up.

“Some time ago I wouldn’t have thought you cared this much for other people. I see things differently now.” First sparks fly. “And I think you do too.”

Brows are strung together: “Watchu meanin’?”

Charles doesn’t say something just points his chin towards Sebastian and Isaac, struggling to string up the fish outta the water.

“That ain’t no concern o’ yours.” And he almost sounded harsh- maybe the first time he ever talked so to Charles. A deep inhale. “Don’t take it the wrong way.”

“No, I understand.” Cheers of victory from behind them. Charles bends his head and points a hand at him chest. “I’m the same- And I thought like that of you.”

Heart shrinks in his chest.

“I’m sorry...”

“Don’t apologize. _Be happy, Arthur._”

He don’t know what words to say so lips drawn together and he turns to assist Sebastian and Isaac with that monster of a fish. Kid’s beaming for the first time in days.

“Caught him all by himself.” Sebastian sounds like a proud father. Now that’s a thought...

“What’re we waitin’ for then; let’s cut the beast open!” Knife’s out, ready to fillet the fish.

Scales off, then edge of then knife then gracefully guts the animal, before slicing it in 2 fingers worth sections and placing it on the grill with salt, pepper and a sprinkle of dried mint.

And they all ate like there was nothing else better:

“Thank you, Isaac.”

Boy perked up with a big smile on his face, then leaned into Sebastian: “He helped-”

“No, I didn’t-” Sebastian deflected, but Isaac wasn’t having it:

“Hush, you earned ye’r keep.”

“Careful, Arthur, Isaac’ll turn into quite the camp leader.” Charles seems to chuckle.

“I’m not Dutch.” Kid was offended.

“That you ain’t.” Arthur laughs, taking one more hefty bite outta the fatty fish, then a chunk of bread.

Sebastian straightened his back and stopped eating.

“What?”

“Sh. Be quiet.”

All of them perked up, listened for anything that might be moving. Silence, except the crackling of the fire.

Bushes rustle. An arrow.

“Look out!” Arthur’s first instinct is getting the kid down.

Charles’ on his feet, Sebastian struggled. Another arrow. A shot and someone stumbled out of the vegetation into the mud. There’s at least three more. He eyes one, but Sebastian’s quicker to shoot him in the neck. The one behind is Arthur’s.

A gunshot from below and behind. Another body tumbles to the ground.

Isaac shot the last one; there was no more fear in that boy’s eyes.

“We gotta burn the bodies.” Sebastian says promptly. “They ain’t gonna stay dead.” A green substance oozes from the corpses alongside the blood.

“Who were they?” Charles isn’t about to keep quiet. “Or what.”

“Fucking undead...” Sebastian spits.


	9. Daybreak (or Two Men and a Boy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The (miss)adventures of two cowboys and their son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the lengthiest chapter so far! 7400 words, smutty towards the end.

“Go to sleep.” Sebastian caught him awake again; man said he’d keep watch.

But things just ain’t sitting right by him. Arthur gets up with a heave.

“Get back to sleep. It ain’t even been two hours-”

“I know.” Arthur finds his way to sit by Sebastian. A sigh. “But there ain’t no rest for the wicked.” A faint smile as he leans against the post on the porch.

A glance at the man: he looked clouded by thoughts, by the way his brows were knit together and eyes were lost somewhere in the distance those thoughts ain’t nothing nice. Part of him’s meaning to ask what that’s all about; what’s the story behind them undead and how it all came- It’s why man ended up a dandy in the first place. A scratch of the beard before he speaks:

“Watchu thinking about?”

Sebastian sighed, a long drawn out sigh: “I think you already know.”

“The goddamn walking swamp corpses?” A huff. “Me too...”

That got his attention.

“Was thinking what the hell’s up with them. I mean I’ve seen some odd stuff ‘round, but-” Arthur sighs. “I’m getting worried there ain’t no more hiding.”

“They’re not invincible, thou.”

They did burn the corpses...

“And purely strategically this _is_ a good hiding place. It’s inconvenient for the law and with the undead walkin’ around it’ll scare off those curious.” Sebastian continues. And then another long drawn out sigh. “I know how to fight these, but the memories ain’t nice.” Teeth bare in a snarl at the end.

“Sebastian-”

“A man came to Rhodes once, said he was a lawman from Saint Denis, barely got away with his life after going to investigate some murders up in the swamp.” Man looks at him then as if he was to confess some great sin. “Me and my wife took him in. I was a Sheriff.” His gaze returns to the fire. “His name was Joseph. Handsome, determined, intelligent. Wanted to get his hands on whatever was out there in those swamps. And we went out together, saw the things we saw, had an...” Air is sucked in between teeth. “Had an affair...” Man falls silent then.

“I get that.” Arthur says, as a means of comfort.

“Things got complicated... Joseph got shot-” Words came hard. “I was still a Sheriff then... They... Well Myra did. But they found out. I wasn’t allowed in the house no more.”

“And you put ye’rself out there like there ain’t nothing more than that you fucked a feller...” Arthur’s heartbroken, but he quite sure how else to offer comfort.

“Yeah...”

“I’m sorry, Sebastian. Real sorry.” He tries to close the gap somehow.

And it’s Sebastian that lets his head fall on Arthur’s shoulder. Cheek leans against it.

“It’s been 5 years since...”

A hand runs down the man’s back for support and relief; Sebastian seems to lean into the touch.

“Ya’know, I always thought there ain’t nothin’ more to me than a killer.” Arthur says after a while; a lil something to show he ain’t alone.

“And are you?”

“Don’t know...”

Sebastian laughs, grimly: “A prostitute and an outlaw.”

“I’d say that’s a fine couple.”

And Sebastian snorts again, leaning further up against him, now both o’them got one arm’s round the other back. Fingers draw faint lines above fabric, barely moving, then picking up more courage. It’s almost comforting.

“Arthur, I...” He stops midway, the strokes above his spine become firmer before ceasing. “You should get some sleep.”

“You need sleep more than I do.”

Another snort.

“Then stay with me.” Sebastian says after the quiet’s settled again.

“Will do.” A smile on his lips as Arthur looks down at him however he can. Fingers ghost above the shirt’s collar, feeling skin and hair. And the warm sensation nestles back within his chest like a bird in spring.

It’s May after all...

And he fears he’s already too far gone.

They didn’t close an eye all night. It was quiet at first, then they started talking, lil’ things, like hunting, different stories of all types of animals and whatever other monstrosities they ended up encountering, like goddamn giant remains he and Isaac found up by mount Shan, then Sebastian mentioned the deal with the gunsmith in Rhodes where the owner chained someone in the basement pretending to be his child, chain ganged and all. After that discussion slipped to children. He found out his daughter’s name was Lily, a beautiful name, and ‘bout how vivacious she was, found her Daddy reading and asked him to teach her, writing too. And how all that happened just short before the entire Joseph thing. She loved stories and he’s sure she’d be writing some of her own if she was given the chance. Arthur taught Isaac as best he could, but the boy had Dutch and Hosea as back-up in case Arthur ended up a failure o’a father, which he ain’t too sure he wasn’t. Sebastian on the other hand sounded like the parent everyone could be hoping to have, and he knew that, by the way he was around Isaac, Jack and the other youngest in the camp. And a great husband to boot- why’s his chest this tight thinking about that. If anything this fool ain’t deserving Sebastian.

The fire was long quenched to simmering charcoal when the sun starts rising and Charles wakes up as if on cue. The man looks at these two idiots leaned in on each other as if he’d stumbled upon some teenagers kissing somewhere: compassion and an urge to look away.

Sebastian straightens up with a groan.

“I don’t judge.” Charles lifted up his arms defensively and Sebastian pins him with a look of mild suspicion before relaxing. “You two should be resting. Weren’t you injured?”

“Yes...” Sebastian says through gritted teeth, Arthur guessed just ‘cause the evidence for exhaustion and pain were undeniable.

“So what’re we plannin’ on tellin’ Dutch about this lil’ endeavor of ours?” Arthur changes the subject.

Charles thinks for a moment: “I’ll go tell him of this place, see what the situation’s like back at Shady Belle, and I think you three should keep on looking.”

Sebastian squints as if he caught onto something, Arthur scratches his beard.

“I’ll look for you if anything goes wrong.”

Realization strikes: “You lettin’ us run away...”

“I said I would.”

“_Why_?” Sebastian is stern and Charles frowns but still continues:

“Because he has a life outside the gang-”

“I still got people I need to take care of back there, Charles.” Arthur cuts in. “And don’t you fool yourself, you’re among them.”

“The weight of our lives shouldn’t be on your shoulders.” Charles speaks with stinging honesty and quite some concern.

And Arthur remains silent, so it’s Sebastian that speaks up, without looking at any of ‘em:

“There’s still the question of money. I’ve barely got enough.”

And there comes his resolution. Arthur searches through his satchel and hands Sebastian no less than 1500 dollars:

“You get this. And you take Isaac with you-” He said he’ll get him and the kid out, not himself.

Sebastian catches his hand and refuses to let go: “I won’t_-_”

“Watchu want me doing then?” His voice ain’t as scolding as the words imply, it’s low, above a whisper, meant to be private.

“Keep the money for when you get out yourself.”

His lips purse: “Sebastian-”

“I’m still going off alone.” Charles insisted.

“Why-”

“Don’t play fool, Arthur.” Charles became stern; Sebastian squeezed his hand as if Arthur’s the only one of ‘em that didn’t understand what that meant. “They ain’t kind.”

Now it made sense... And it makes him clutches Sebastian’s palm tighter into his own, as if he’s clinging. It feels somewhat like his actions took decisions for him long before his brain could make up its mind on what it wanted.

To take some time for himself... That’s a foreign concept, and he ain’t deserving it either way-

But maybe they do. Isaac, Sebastian. They deserved the levity, and he can’t be selfish now. Not for them, ‘cause he’s been allowed that. Mind goes back to that pen, the necklace that he mindlessly touches. He’s been allowed, _gifted_ those things, and it ain’t been ‘cause he earned any of it. It’s for them, they earned it, Arthur just somehow managed to be that idiot in their lives, so he better make the best of it.

Charles takes off shortly after; simply gets up on Taima and sets off.

And Arthur’s left there to mull over his thoughts and maybe stare at the man next to him. He’s thinkin’ he’ll do the latter first, leaning into him with a drawn-out sigh.

“What’re thoughts on this, Sebastian?...” he looks up at him, gaining quite the appreciation for this low angle, the way the jaw made a sharp line, jutting forward in a chin, then slim lips and a strong nose.

And he has brown doe eyes glancing down at him now.

“Well Charles ain’t too bad-”

Arthur scoffs: “Ain’t meant that-”

“I’m just needling you, Arthur.”

“I know...” A sigh, another absentminded stroke of the necklace; it’s quite heavy, hard to forget it’s there. A groan and Arthur’s up, face turned towards Sebastian; there’s half baked sarcastic lines sitting on his tongue but he better keep his mouth shut ‘bout those if he ain’t wanting to be slapped ‘cross the face. He knows he ain’t romantic.

“You got anything you want to do?” Sebastian asks.

“Was gonna ask the same thing-”

“Hm.” Man ponders. “Well yesterday’s got my fishing appetite back up and I _know_ there’s a monster sturgeon just at the mouth of the Lanahachee by Saint Denis. And there was also that bounty hunt you was talking about...”

“A fishin’ contest?” Arthur chuckles. “Sure.”

“And while we’re at it we’ll be able to scout Saint Denis, see how the city feels in the absence of Valentini. Maybe there ain’t no need to move.”

Another laugh bubbles in his throat: “Ye’r a better outlaw than me.”

“Or maybe you’re just particularly bad at being one. Though I heard you were pretty good- 5000 dollars...”

“You flirting with me?”

“I’m letting you decide on that-” One of Sebastian’s fingers tugs at the collar of his shirt, unbuttoning it-

“Did I hear anything ‘bout fishing?” when heads turn realization strikes that the kid’s been wide awake for half the conversation. “Or do you want me to turn away and-”

“You’re a goddamn menace, Isaac.” Arthur shakes his head with a smile and a chuckle. “Not letting ye’r ol’ man get some lil’ bit of peace and quiet.” He tries to stand up

“No, I think we better keep the smooching for private.”

“I said I can turn away, if you want-”

How’d he, Arthur moron Morgan, got himself to be father to this treasure of a child; boy ain’t ever judged anyone and to think somehow this... this whole thing is comin’ so easy to Isaac as if it’s second nature has him at ease. Somehow... somehow he’s thinkin’ they ain’t ever really been a family, that they ain’t ever really been whole. Boy’s been missing a mother all his life. Can he even remember her? His Pa surely doesn’t... They don’t really talk of her... And now Sebastian. Is Isaac simply that desperate for a real parent that he’ll cling on to anyone.

“Pa?...” He noticed the silence, ‘course he did, that smart kid.

“Is nothin’. Was just thinkin’ of things and I-” a sigh. “Sorry.”

Sebastian stood now too, puts a hand on his shoulder.

Isaac got up from the bed:

“If there’s something I can help you with, ever, you know I will.” Boy rolls up his sleeping bag. “Just tell me, please...”

Heart bursts a lil’, feeling leak into his expression; Sebastian’s grip tightens on him.

“Isaac, com’ere.” Boy looks at him for a second before Arthur opens up his arms wide, catching the kid when he comes running. He clutches the boy tight against his chest: “I _love_ you, Isaac, ya’ hear. I love you, son.”

And Isaac muffles a response against his shirt.

And maybe he didn’t need to speak, but Sebastian did: “You deserve the world, kid.” And Isaac sneaks a hand and pulls on Sebastian’s vest to drag him closer, pressing him up against Arthur who ended up sandwiched between.

“I like you too, Sebastian.”

Maybe this a bit too sweet for a bunch o’ wayward outlaws, but it ain’t too bad. No, it ain’t bad at all...

Moment lasts a lil’ while longer, a pile of awkward limbs and awkward feelings, as if he should stop fighting all that this is and just let it happen. There’s been plenty other things that just happened to him, and there were few that were this happy.

“Now about that monster fish Sebastian was talkin’ about?”

“C’mon I’ll show you.”

The day was bright, and whatever cool air there was in the morning, not even an hour later was gone; the muggy soupyness of the swamp made itself at home again. The insects came again, roaring loud, felt like summer and quite some. It was past midday when they got there, got themselves some bread, cheese and salted beef to munch on just by the rail tracks, Isaac deciding it’s a good idea to have his feet dangling off the side.

They found themselves a boat just a bit downstream from the bridge and ‘cause Sebastian was as he was it was up to Arthur to row the boat.

“So which one o’ you will be usin’ as bait for this monster fish?” Arthur jokes.

“Isaac looks more bite-sized.”

“M~aybe, but you won’t struggle so much so we might just get a chance at catching the bastard.” Isaac smiles, cocky, full of himself as if he just murdered his biggest enemy.

Arthur can’t help but giggle.

“Touché.” Sebastian says; Isaac’s nose crinkles.

“What does that even mean?”

“It’s when your opponent makes a good point.” Sebastian explains. “Some years in Saint Denis and you start learning French.”

Arthur stops next to where the water’s rippling, sin of fish coming out for a breath; he gets up and takes out his rod, there’s a funky, odd lure attached and he ain’t bothering changing it.

“But you also know Spanish.” Arthur beckons back to Sebastian as man threw the line out.

“My Daddy was a foreigner, came all the way from Spain. He and Momma moved around a lot until we settled somewhere near Rhodes. He became a bounty hunter, then got deputized by the Grays. Was a teenager back then, and after he passed, a drunken accident, they made me a Sheriff. Momma got to see me married with a kid until fever got her.”

“Sounds like a happy life.” Isaac interrupted, carefully reeling in his line. “Did Pa ever tell you what happened to Ma?”

“Yeah...” Sebastian replies.

“Oh...”

“Do you remember anything of that time?”

There was something nibbling on the line; Arthur carefully keeps going slow and steady maybe it bites.

“I remember I cried.” Isaac replies back to Sebastian. “Some men shot her for money; I hid under some crates, then I ran away.”

“You’re a really brave kid, I hope you know that.” Sebastian continued and the two of ‘em shared a smile while Arthur stopped for barely a moment to watch. Felt a bit like things were mending-

“_Shit!_” Line is yanked with force, such force that he’s afraid he’ll fall off the boat. Sebastian catches him before that’s the case.

Teeth clench and he tries to hold the wire from unspooling but that ain’t possible.

“Think I found him!” Arthur yells when the bastard’s calmed down and he can _try_ to reel him in.

Another struggle. Isaac lets out an awed sound when he sees the tail of the fish splash the surface.

“Did you see how big that was!?” Isaac was all excited.

“Yeah.” Sebastian chaffs in. “I bet that thing eats human.”

“AH, heard that Isaac-” Arthur struggles against the beast. “You better start praying ye’r Pa ain’t ending up fish food!”

Boy scowls then keeps on watching.

He fears his arms might just give in from all the strain they’re under, but there’s Sebastian holding him so he don’t fall over. Heart thumps madly in his chest: effort, heat and the firm grip the man had on him. And the tug o’ war between him and Devil’s fishy spawn goes on for a while, _quite a while._

But it’s getting closer, inch by inch closer- There’s the head of that monstrosity! Sebastian leans over the side of the boat and grabs the fish by the gills, heaving to bring it inside the boat. Arthur bends next to him, helping the behemoth onboard.

It fills the entire goddamn boat.

And it struggles some more, slaps Isaac in the face, before boy, pissed as hell, climbs on top of the fish’s spine and sits as if he’s ready to ride it to battle. Then a look up: the kid’s beaming.

At last, with a groan Arthur falls down into the boat: “Gotcha, you hell fish.” He ends up poking the snout of the monster with his boot: those round expressionless eyes almost looked at him with anger.

“Now what we gonna do with him?” asks Isaac.

“I think...” Sebastian intervened. “We can get quite the money off this beast. Say we take it in Saint Denis, at the market.”

“And how the hell we do that-” Arthur laughs.

“I think Sir Lancelot’s big enough to carry him.”

“I meant myself, Isaac.” Arthur’s exhausted and all a sweat. He lets the coat off of him, unbuttons his shirt.

Sebastian looks at him. A smirk forms on Arthur’s half parted lips and he opens up another button; half is chest is visible through the crack of the collar. And he can’t say he ain’t enjoying that half frustrated look Sebastian gave him. He can only wonder now how a cock feels up his ass- _Jesus Christ!_

Fish. Saint Denis.

He wanted to get up to row, but Sebastian’s faster, takes the task from him and it’s clear on his sweaty face how much it hurts to move that shoulder. He’s groaning all the way through, louder the more he strains. And he’s knowin’ that; his shot left shoulder’s still as stiff as ever, movement came with a pop of joints and a feeling of numbness; in all honesty after this goddamn fish he’s barely feelin’ his left arm at all: it tickles and crinkles as if he fell asleep on in.

Through a collective 3 man effort they manage to get the beast sturgeon up on Big Sir, trying it down with some ropes. Isaac hops on, while Arthur helps Sebastian into the saddle; he ain’t asked, but that’s what a good pardner does.

The market ain’t all that far and by now he’s feelin’ like he knows these places all too well, just a bit ahead the saloon and the Molly House, then across from the market, a bit away, by the Church was the Doctor. He bled on these streets. And he thinks he might have found, above love, salvation on these cobbled streets that he’d otherwise not stand. He _hated_ big cities; and yet forgiveness came from the gutters of a stinking big city, with all it’s fumes and reptiles.

“Please, sir, will you help the poor?” A monk begged by the wall, with pleading eyes.

Arthur gets down from the saddle, again on impulse rather than actual rational thought, and tosses 3 dollars in the man’s platter; a dollar each.

“Bless you, sir!”

He turns away, to get on with selling that monstrosity of a fish, but not without wishing the priest a good day in his own way:

“Well good luck to you, Father. Hope you getting on quite well-”

The monk continues the conversation however:

“It’s quite the apathetic lot I’m afraid, kind sir. And I am just a humble Brother, not a priest.”

It’s a gut reaction when he says: “I ain’t kind.” Forgetting almost that both Sebastian and Isaac are with him, thou it feels like at least his son’s forgiving him all too easy for all the wrongs he’s done.

“You just gave money for the poor, sir, I beg to differ.”

He’s still up on his mare: “I’m a nasty bit of work, Brother.”

“You may have made some poor choices, but which of us hasn’t?” the man’s insisting, and it’s Sebastian that catches on to something that’s amiss.

“You needing help with something, Brother?” Sebastian asks, inching forward with his horse.

“Well, thing is...” the monk’s voice lowers. “Poverty will always be with us, but slavery, I thought we abolished that.”

“I don’t believe you- It’s 1899.” Arthur scoffs.

Sebastian on the other hand: “How?”

“Seems Saint Denis is acting like a staging post for shipping slaves to the islands.” Says the Brother. “Maybe you should see for yourself. I heard the pawnbroker down the block, ’round the corner, the one with the green door, sales more than forlorn trinkets.”

Sebastian jumps down the saddle. Arthur purses his lips, turns to Isaac:

“Son, go see if you find a buyer for that fish. We go take a look.”

He dismounts himself and follows a limping Sebastian, a hand on the back as he reaches him for support.

“_Slavery._” Sebastian’s livid, and he looks absolutely convinced it was true. Arthur ain’t that certain, but he ain’t been the one living in Saint Denis for the past couple o’ years.

But all doubt washed away once they got inside. There was scratch marks on the floor, under a bookshelf. A trap door. He keeps silent but looks at Sebastian, nose crinkled. And if that wasn’t a dead giveaway the way the shopkeeper told ‘em that there ain’t nothing there to see sets it in stone. There’s prisoners behind that case. And Sebastian loses no time pawing at the side of the cupboard, searching how and where it comes undone.

“Help me out here-” Sebastian asks and no second doubts Arthur swoops in, jabbing his fingers in the crack at the back.

Heaving, they both yank while the shopkeeper was losing his mind over it. With a bit of effort, the door unlocks.

There’s voices from downstairs; Spanish he reckons and Sebastian quickens the pace.

“Se's bien.” He calls out reaching downstairs. “Yo'm aquí para ayudar.”

Arthur ain’t understanding a single thing, but the cheery gasps from those people are all he needed. Poor bastards are chained to the walls like goddamn animals. Sebastian was already helping one of them and Arthur goes to free the other:

“Please, I’m on your side.” Arthur tries, hoping they understand.

“Él's conmigo. Nos'vamos a sacar.” Sebastian says and the fear in the other’s eyes seems to have dimmed a lil’.

They’re both free now.

“Arthur, lead the way-”

And that he does, gets upstairs first, looks for that shopkeeper to make sure he ain’t up to any funny business, while Sebastian sneaks out with the now freed people, speaking to them softly in their language.

Soon enough they’re outta the shop and back to the Brother who was looking concerned and rejoiced all at once.

“We found these two imprisoned in that shop.” Sebastian says.

“Oh my...” the monk says. “Thank you. Both of you. They’re blessed to have found you.” And the man’s gaze falls on Arthur’s neckline all of a sudden; the necklace glinting in the midday sun.

He ignored that: “I don’t think they speak much English, thou.”

“Ah,” Brother looks at them, then at those poor souls, gesticulating wildly: “Let’s get something to eat.” And that sounds like a really bad French accent. “_Manger?_”

Sebastian intervenes like the savior he was: “Él's van a conseguir algo de comer. Vamos.” They trust him and they follow behind the monk.

A look at the pavement, at his feet. The platter. He left it behind. Arthur bends down to pick it up and hand it over: “Brother, you forgot this.”

“Oh. Thank you, I-” he takes it, then hesitates and pushes it back: “Here. Payment. For your services.”

“Give it to the poor, Brother.” Arthur says in a heartbeat.

“I couldn’t thank you enough! ... and urhm it’s Brother Dorkins.”

“Arthur Morgan. Sebastian Castellanos.” Arthur introduces them both.

The man’s gaze falls once again on the necklace: “Come see me again sometimes. I often work at the old church on Gaspar street.”

“I know the place.” Sebastian says, the monk smiles as he departs, and only then Sebastian lets out a sigh that feels like it’s been held in for far too long. “_Motherfuckers._”

“Whoever said you ain’t a do-gooder was lying.” Arthur rubs a hand on the man’s back.

“Then you’re a liar yourself.”

Arthur lets out a noise, bobs his head around, then lets his eyes fall back on Sebastian’s face. “You did good, Sebastian.”

“You did too.” A smile; for themselves, a lil’ thing.

They should be going to look for the kid. And they find him soon enough, waving at them no more, no less than 40 dollars.

“A few more of those and we’ll be richmen.” Isaac sings.

“If only it’d be that easy.” His father chimes in.

“Ain’t you a sour ol’ man.” Isaac might have been more well mannered than your usual outlaw but he was still an outlaw, and a 16 year old boy at that.

“Let the kid dream.” Sebastian mocks him and Arthur can’t help but scoff: two against one it ain’t a fair fight!

“Ah! Maybe you’re right.” He gives in.

“Thank you, Seb.”

“_Seb?!_” He’s thrown in on a loop, where that come from? Isaac? And the man in question laughs, loudly. He feels like he’s missing something. “You gonna start calling him Daddy soon?” Sebastian can’t handle it, he’s bent over the neck of the stallion he just got back on, laughing hysterically:

“I ain’t no Daddy-” Sebastian wheezes through tears.

“Yeah, well the kid’s clearly adopted you as a parent.” And with those words from his father Isaac nods, entirely proud of the mess he’s put both of ‘em in. Boy’s becoming a conman like his Uncle Hosea and Arthur ain’t sure if he should be proud or terrified.

“Holy shit-” he’s still chuckling. “I sure am glad I met the both of you.” But it dies down soon enough and tone becomes almost melancholic. “I haven’t laughed like that in a long time.”

The shift’s so sudden that his stomach ends up dropping and a urge to go up and meet that sadness with some physical comfort takes over him:

“Sebastian-” A hand on the man’s knee.

“Now let’s see if how the police’ll be seeing us when we walk in.” the man continues, pulling on the reins.

Just a little bit left behind, Arthur’s last to get back into saddle and spur Ghost to follow suit.

He’s paying attention to everything, especially the lawmen; he bids them good day and they ain’t lookin’ like they recognize him, or Sebastian for that matter. So, Mister Valentini was keeping his lil’ dirty secrets hidden well. At one point against his better judgement he asks one if he’s seen any Pinkertons around. Surprisingly he said he hasn’t. He’s gaining confidence.

And he’d strut into that police station of it wouldn’t fill him with some form of bitter taste; that’s where Abigail told him Jack was taken, and now looking at that poster: _Lemoyne Raider_ _Commander, Lindsey Wofford. Bounty 100$. _It ain’t no easy task... He shoots a glance back at Isaac; the kid takes the poster and the lawman that was watching almost let out an audible gasp:

“You going after Lindsey Wofford?”

“Might be.” Arthur replies.

“With a kid? You know he’s-”

“Mind your own business, mister.” Isaac’s voice cuts like a knife.

He understands; a hand presses on the boy’s shoulder. He’s smart, real smart and that makes him angry now, but for all that’s good in this world-

“You don’t have to do this.” Sebastian says not even one step outside.

“_I_ want to.” Isaac intervenes.

Arthur holds him back with a firm hand: “Then you better keep your wits about ye’rself, boy.”

And the kid lets his head fall forward with a sigh: “Of course, Pa.”

With a breath sucked in between teeth Arthur climbs back into saddle: “Now it says the bastard’s up by the Mossy Flats.”

“It’s up past BlueWater Marsh.” Sebastian spoke, while at the same time pinning him with a concerned look.

And maybe this ain’t the best judgement or even the best Arthur’s capable of, but he’s thinkin’ it’d be a good lesson for the kid. Revenge is a fool’s game and Isaac must learn that; the sooner the better.

“Isaac.” He speaks up. “Listen here, this ain’t about revenge.”

“We’re in for the money?” Isaac, while sounding absolutely livid, was uncertain.

“Yeah, but that ain’t it, kid.”

“I don’t get it...”

“You might end up workin’ as a bounty hunter so don’t you get ye’r head wrapped up in ye’r work.” Boy doesn’t reply. “Isaac, I know they hurt you-”

“_They shot you!_” Isaac completely loses his temper there. “_You almost died- I’d kill Colm O’Driscoll myself for what’s-_”

“Isaac.” The name falls stern, yet not uncaringly from his lips.

“Take a deep breath.” Sebastian chimes in; boy nods, listens.

“Revenge ain’t worth the price.” Arthur continues.

Isaac sniffs in a sob; he rode just a bit ahead so they can’t see his face: “They can’t take you from me... They took Momma away-Who am I gonna have then...”

“You got the gang-”

“_The gang ain’t been there!_” Another fierce burst. Then silence. “Remember that time I caught fever while out in the desert, Pa? In new Austin?”

“Yeah, I remember...” It was about two years ago, kid got bitten by something and went down with shivers and fever.

“You collected those herbs, ginseng was it, and brought me into that town, Armadillo. You were there. I thought-” Boy’s clearly crying at this point. “Thought I’d die.”

It lasted 2 whole days, and Arthur’s been scared the whole entire time, holding the boy’s hand through it all, wet compresses on the forehead and all that.

“I ain’t letting you die, Isaac.” He says then.

“_Neither am I._” cuts the boy with absolute resolution.

Sebastian was quiet throughout all of this, but Arthur had a hunch that if he was to say something it’d be about not letting either of ‘em die, and that’s just ‘cause he did it multiple times already. And if they weren’t at a gallop he’d stretch out his hand to the man.

Instead: “And I guess Sebastian ain’t gonna wanna see you gone either kid.”

“And don’t forget yourself, Arthur.”

“That’s a work in progress.” He tries a chuckle, to lift up the gloom over the boy’s shoulders. It ain’t working.

A song it be; Arthur starts: “I left my home to seek my fame, I traveled in a wagon train... Gold, gold, gotta have gold.”

Sebastian chimes into the chorus soon after, and he’s got quite the singing voice that man:

“Gold, gold, gotta have gold. Gold, gold, gotta have gold. Gold, gold, gotta have gold.”

They paused to let the kid have the next verse; a sigh, then: “So many joined this gold rush craze and hundreds came here everyday...”

And then together again: “Gold, gold, gotta have gold. Gold, gold, gotta have gold. Gold, gold, gotta have gold.”

The road ain’t as dreary then, so they keep up with the singing for a while. It started smelling like rain, skies grew darker and there’s thunder up ahead as they cross to Roanoke Ridge. They follow the road nearing the Kamassa River until they come across a fort. And that’s certainly looking like the place a rogue private militia’d be hiding into.

Here goes nothing.

Arthur takes out the rolling block riffle, checks for bullets: 16 left. The repeater’s out as well in case they need more bullets, that’s got roughly 50, but that he hands Isaac. Pistol and revolver ammo checked:

“Before we head in, everyone’s got enough bullets?” Arthur calls out.

“Got some to spare for the revolver?” Sebastian asks and Arthur hands him a full cartridge. A nod as acceptance.

“Isaac, you cover us from behind.”

It’s the Lemoyne Raiders, there’s gonna be plenty of them. An absent minded touch of the necklace. And in they went.

He almost instantly stops to turn back to Isaac: they got a gatling gun-

“_Shit they’re here for Wofford!_” People already gather, race to the gun.

Sebastian takes care that the first one that tries to man it falls down from the palisade onto the ground. Another one makes an attempt and that’s Arthur’s to dispose of. Still all three of them are ducked behind a bag-wall, only dipping up when aiming.

Isaac was getting good at this; saw the ones hiding in the ground-level cabin, shot the first one right in the chest, the other he didn’t get to, hid back inside. But that man’s head still peeked up. With a well placed shot he could get him- He did. Isaac moved to the other side: to the people that dared climb downstairs. Sebastian was mowing down those still on the palisades. 3 more left. Consecutive headshots.

Another reload, but the air turned quiet.

“That all of ‘em?” Isaac asked.

“Keep your guard up; there might be more out and about.” Sebastian warns, getting up, cautious at first. “Can I have the poster?”

“Sure,” they gotta find that Lindsey bastard among all these corpses; first he stares at the printed mug for a bit before handing the paper over. “I’ll go check upstairs.” After all Sebastian still had his leg wounded. He should maybe have a look at that after all this is over. But first, smile and praise for Isaac: “Good job, kid. You were real calm, real collected.”

Isaac’s face splits with a smile: “I did it for you, Pa!” Boy jumps up: “_Ya’ hear that bastards! That was for my Pa!_”

Arthur can’t help the chuckle: boy took revenge and made into an homage. Boy’s real smart. So exceptionally smart and a father’s heart swells inside his chest: he ain’t deserving such a good kid, but now that he’s got him it’s making him real proud.

Okay, but they still need to find the Lindey feller- was that him? He turns the bearded corpse over; it’s looking like him. Up on his shoulder the body goes with a huff, and Arthur makes his sluggish descent.

“Think I found him-” A thud as the corpse’s thrown to the ground.

“Looks like him.” Sebastian said.

“Then let’s get the bastard back to Saint Denis-”

His voice is covered up by the roar of thunder. Downpour comes not even a moment later. They gotta take cover but there ain’t no way they’re gonna sit here just in case the Raiders get back to find their beloved Commander’s met his maker.

It takes ‘em about 10 minutes to get to a small disheveled house right on the shore of the Kamassa River. They’re all soaked to the bone so the first thing they do is to get a fire going inside and take their clothes off and hang ‘em up to dry. The bounty’s hidden behind some crates, covered so it doesn’t rot

It’s got something about it; the way all three of ‘em are bare-chested ‘round a fire, sharing some dry meat and crackers. It’s got something that reminds of family.

“Maybe we should’o’ kept the sturgeon.” Sebastian chaffs, barely averting is gaze from slipping towards Arthur; and he can’t say he ain’t in the same situation. It’s both lust and worry, ‘cause the man still had deep running cuts along his entire body.

Lips purse and he sits with a biscuit in his hand, not replying, ending up thinking of it all. Today felt good. The fishing, even the whole bounty hunt, and now this moment, that’s feeling too tender to be all real, yet somehow, here they are two men and a boy, ‘round the fire with rain still pouring on outside like it ain’t ever rained. Kinda like the situation they were in: the camp was a mess... That whole thing was a mess...

“I think he fell asleep, Seb.” Isaac whispers to the man.

Arthur blinks a few times, pops the biscuit in his mouth, but one look at Sebastian and the man was pretending to be asleep in solidarity. He winked and Isaac shoved him. Both of them laughed, but the boy just pouted with raised eyebrows.

He’s handsome like this. He’s handsome anyhow, but with a smile on his face and flames dancing on his skin, he’s making that poor foolish heart of his thump against his ribs and breath rise shallow from his chest.

Isaac looks at both of them: “Well since you’re both already fast asleep I guess I’m gonna join.” He sits up and goes to look for a blanket or something that’s dry. Thankfully whoever died in this house decided it ain’t worth taking the blankets with them so the boy wraps himself up in them. “Goodnight!”

Arthur scoffs: “Goodnight, kid.” He rubs the boy’s back leaning over to him. “You did real good today. I’m proud of you.”

Isaac hums, sinking deeper in the blanket.

And when he swings his body back into a sitting position he discovers Sebastian looking at him like he’s the whole entire world, chin resting in one hand and eyes soft as ever, dripping with tenderness - and a pinch of lust. And he lunges like a cat towards Arthur, hands pawing at him, luring him in and dragging him closer. He soon finds himself on top of Sebastian, almost fearing he’s crushing him.

It’s a strange feeling, sweaty, drenched skin sticking to each other, chests rhythmically rising and falling together, seemingly faster and faster. A moments silence where all there is was that look Sebastian gave him with breath hitched, before he runs fingers through the other’s hair. And he leans into the touch ever so slightly.

“Arthur-” it’s so soft; he’s a sinner to this saint and yet that’s how he calls out his name. It makes him grind his hips upwards: “Umgh--”

Arthur promptly covers his mouth.

And Sebastian, spins him ‘round, to then straddle him underneath him.

“Se-” He don’t get to finish; the rest of the name in a breath given to the man’s mouth when it falls onto his own. Breath fastens; kiss deepens. Sebastian pins his arms above his head and Arthur’s feeling tight at the navel-

“Outside...” Sebastian whispers against his lips. Promise and incentive.

Then he’s up.

Rain is still pouring outside, but it ain’t like it’s gonna matter, Sebastian spins him round, lifts his arms against his head again and mouth’s on his mouth again, rough and hungry:

“You’ve been teasing me all fucking day-” Sebastian grunts against his beard; man’s hands cup the sides of his body, running up, stopping on his chest with thumbs on the nipples.

He ain’t known those could go hard as well, or feel so pleasant under touch like that. He bites his lips as not to moan. Rain soaks them through once again while the kissing and the fondling continues, with only pants to give away what’s been doing to them. That and the legs that part beneath Sebastian and arms that pull him closer in by the waist and have him grind up against him.

“You want that-” Sebastian coos by his ear, voice heavy, husky, a rumble tumbling out like the thunder outside

“Thought you was curious to find out.” He can’t handle what this feeling’s doing to him; teeth graze along the man’s bearded jaw.

A groan; he unbuckles Arthur’s belt and shoves a hand right between his thighs, cupping his cock into his palm. And Arthur has to throw his head back with a grunt at the sensation, it itches between his legs and up his navel. With thumb still coiled ‘round his now throbbing erection, fingers slip up, searching for the crack. He involuntarily bucks his hips forward, letting man access it. The one digit’s button presses against his hole and moves in a circle. Eyes are closed; Sebastian’s panting against his neck. Muscles contract and relax and that’s all he’s focusing on before the hand retracts to get lubricated by spit.

It’s promptly back, but this time Sebastian’s down on his knees: one hand teasing his ass, the other his cock, thin, wet lips fawning over the tip of his cock. Arthur’s knees are weak, trembling already and the knot that’s nested in his guts begs for touch. His own palm sneaks into Sebastian’s hair, grips, coaxes the head to move forward, put that damn mouth round his cock.

“Oh-” it’s soft, not loud and still that one free hand he has goes to cover his mouth. ‘cause he moans into it, muffled, when finger shoves up his anus, mouth working his length like it’s candy, tongue on the underside, firm against the ridge, making pleasure crawl up sweet.

A second finger slips in; the pain makes him bite his lips hard and fast, mid moan, and that sound escapes shamefully; the hand meant to muffle it swats to the side, grabbing onto the wooden paneling. There’s so much going on between his goddamn legs he ain’t ever felt as weak, or good. And it builds and builds. Hand grips the wall tighter, teeth keep biting down.

And Sebastian finds a spot within him, rubbing fingers firm against him in such a manner that he can’t help it:

“There- AUGH-” Mouth’s covered, shots fired. “_Shit!_” Hands rush to cup Sebastian’s face. Man swallows and looks up at him with a crooked expression of satisfaction: “You goddamn-” His fingers are still deep inside Arthur, and when he moves them the other arm reaches up to cover the man’s mouth before the boy realizes what was going on.

And he’s pinned there until Sebastian has his way with him: pace quick and rough and despite flaccid the knot builds up again just as fast, in ever higher, waves. He can barely hold himself up at this point. There-_There_-**_There!..._**

This time it shakes his body from his core. Sebastian ends up holding him within his arms, against the wall. _Christ what’s he done to him._ Arthur can’t even catch his breath.

“I made sure you’ll be sore tomorrow.” A kiss on his cheek.

Arthur chuckles; he’s already kinda feeling it: “Bastard.”

Sebastian just smirks; and he’s still hard.

A few more pants till he gets his strength back up before it’s his time to straddle the man against paneling. He ain’t quite as delicate or as skilled, but Christ A’mighty he’s trying his best: a few rough strokes down the length of the man’s cock, before he bends down and swaddles the tip with his lips. Tongue rolls ‘round it and over, then head dips down the shaft, gaining himself a big gasp form Sebastian. And he _likes_ hearing that. He reckons he found the rarest of sounds: the moan of a man in that lolls his head backwards, lips half open, hand to cover them. And he feels like he learned a thing or two, tries to replicate the motions Sebastian practiced on him just earlier and man exercises the same control over his skull, bobbing it up and down with on hand clenched into his hair. And he’s barely got the motions proper when he feels cum fill up his mouth: sticky, salty, tasting more or less like roe. It’s hard to swallow, takes a few tries ‘cause it stuck to the roof of his mouth, but when he’s done he finds himself roaming Sebastian’s body with his hands. From the hips up, lulling the man around, as close as possible, letting his breath roll heavy on the side of his neck.

Sebastian’s arms are wrapped around his wet back. It’s still pouring. Hair is sticking to skin, that’s threatening to get cold any minute now. But they don’t let go of each other. Almost naked, pants hanging low between their legs, they’re pressed against the wall, panting and not speaking one more word; Sebastian’s simply drawing circles on his back.

Exhaustion gets to him soon as he stands there; the cold too, and still he finds himself cupping Sebastian’s face, running thumbs down his cheeks, head still pressed to his forehead. And only after he’s done feeling the realness of this, the realness of him, that he’s there and that he’s Arthur’s to have as company does he whisper:

“Let’s get ourselves warm.”


	10. Nightfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More zombies and fine nights for debauchery.

Thumping wakes them up; racket from outside, where the corpse is hidden. It’s Isaac that stand up first. Daybreak ain’t come yet.

“Think they came for the bounty?”

Arthur goes up to accompany the boy, arms pressing down on his shoulders.

“No.” says Sebastian looking out the window and the people in tattered clothes with rashes on their skin and absent looks. They were dragging Wofford’s corpse out. “No, they’re intending to eat it.”

“_What?_” Isaac shrieks; the undead drop the body and stare at the window; right at them, through them.

Sebastian picks up the repeater, gets outside, still bare-chested.

“That _fool_-” Arthur goes to follow. The sound of a shot being fired, then a reload.

A yelp cut midway; he ain’t got to see the bodies fall.

“I _swear_ I’m sick of these things.” Sebastian huffs and wipes a sweaty brow; “Think we should set out.”

“Yeah...”

At least the rain stopped. In half an hour they’re dressed and packed, Lindsey Wofford stored back on Big Sir. The sky is starting to lighten shortly after. A look at the clock: it’s nearing 4 AM. He offers an apple to Isaac as breakfast; they should really be going out hunting more-

“See that coat.” A voice beckons from behind. “That’s Lindsey Woffords!”

Another one: “We’re gonna take that bounty, fellers! It’s worth too much for you.”

“GO!” Arthur incentivizes; Isaac loses no time spurring Big Sir to an extended gallop.

“Oh no you don’t!” the other bounty hunters open fire.

Pistol’s out, Ghost turned around. A spur, aim, bullet falls between the collarbone. Sebastian manages to headshot the other rider close behind. There’s one more-

Ghost whinnies in pain, bolts sideways. A stray bullet that don’t reach the target. One more. It hits the chest. And another one from Sebastian’s riffle makes the body fall out of the saddle and get dragged with one last scream before death.

“Arthur-”

“You get to the kid.” Arthur hops out of the saddle to take a look at the horse’s wound. It’s in the shoulder; ain’t that deep. “You’re a brave girl~” he praises her with soft pats: “I’ll catch up with you.”

“We’ll take it through Lagras.” Sebastian announces, turns round and chases after Isaac.

“Good girl.” Arthur returns to his hurt companion; she’s huffing loud. He should have some ointment to sooth the pain. A nicker when he applies it. “There, girl.” Some rigorous scratches and rubs. “You okay there. C’mon.” Clean hand reaches in his satchel for some sugar cubes and peppermints. She gobbles them up right away.

And he’s feeling rather guilty climbing back up in the saddle with his mare in pain, but she’s a brave one: “Never letting me down, girl, are you~” Even more rubs; he spurs and waits for her to heed the commands. It’s a shaky step, lame on the front left leg, but Ghost starts at a canter yet again.

She can’t quite keep up, but Sebastian and Isaac stopped by someone camping on the side of the road.

“What’s going on?” he can’t help but ask.

“Nightfolk.” Sebastian spits.

“Undead...” Isaac chimes in hopeless.

“We gonna help him out.” Sebastian was resolute.

“ ‘couse...” Arthur says. “But how ‘bout Wofford?”

“I can take him in-”Isaac tried.

“_No._ You saw the price on this man’s head. I ain’t lettin’ you get shot for a bounty.”

Isaac purses his lips: “Then I stay back here ‘till you come back.” His eyes fill with worry next: “It won’t take long, right?”

“No.” Sebastian’s certain. “It’s a promise. C’mon, Arthur.”

“We can take it on foot from here, misters, it ain’t far.” Man leads ahead. “But what’s the boy meanin’ by undead? These Night Folk sure ain’t dead. I mean sure, they ain’t speakin’ and they sure as hell ain’t acting human, but they movin’ like they alive. So they gotta be.”

Arthur shot Sebastian a glance, but the man was quiet.

“But I give you that! They’re evil! What kind o’thing make no sound! It’s bad a’right. Bad.”

Arthur lets out a puff; Sebastian why you makin’ him put up with someone that’s clear got no intention of shutting up? But one glance back at him, and how hard the feature’s gotten and mild inconveniences are left to the side. A step closer, Sebastian clutches the riffle,

“It’s gonna be a’right.” He whispers.

“You don’t know nothing yet.” And the man’s head bows.

Boots squelch making their way through the mud. Arthur tuned out the man, he was talking about different animal bites, instead he was thinking of what horror there must of been that it left Sebastian this goddamn frightened-

“Maybe we should keep it down.” Sebastian had enough, by the way his voice snapped.

“Yes, pardner. Yup, uh-huh. That’s probably the best- It’s not far now-”

Sebastian cocks the riffle and points it. One of those undead lifts it’s nasty mug up and starts running hunched at them. It falls before it got to close the distance.

“Oh hell! A fresh one! Thank you, misters!” The stranger almost clung to Arthur; he pushed to the side. “I knew you were the right people for the job!”

“Where’s the place.”

“Over the road there!” But when Arthur wants walk on to get the thing done, the Cajun pulls him back. “Woah! See that guy over there tied to the tree; he’s been there for years-”

“Yeah I know that one-” Sebastian lost all goddamn patience and strode forward.

“What in tarna-” The man was left behind as Arthur went after Sebastian.

And he had to admit that ain’t normal, any corpse would’o’been a skeleton by the end of the year but this one’s been here a long while. _Why?_ ‘cause he ain’t dead...

And indeed, there was the house, there was 6 at least outside, feeding on something by the sound of a tendon getting snapped, then loud slurping noises. Jesus. He ain’t thought he was gonna get sick.

“_Arthur!_” It’s harsh when he says it, followed by the sound of gunshot.

Those goddamn creatures were heading for them. Pistol’s fast to come out but silhouettes in a dark ain’t the easiest of targets. But down they go. It’s actually rather scary just how precise Sebastian was with the riffle; not that he aint’ before but now felt like something pushed him back into a role he ain’t been for long. And for some goddamn reason it’s worrying him – oh, Morgan you fool; he know the reason already, now he just had to shoot the bastards dead. That if they did in fact die.

“You got ‘em! You got ‘em good!” The stranger comes from behind. “The place is ours.”

Sebastian went ahead. And a thought zaps inside Arthur: there might be more inside-

Too late. A man with a hatchet pushed Sebastian down, swatting the weapon rather aimlessly above his victim’s head. Teeth grit and he’s feelin’ something like a growl come out when he pulls the trigger. A bullet for the hand, a bullet for the head; the body falls over Sebastian-

There was another one inside that now stumbles and almost trips over his fallen comrade. Neck. Blood siphons out. The undead stumbles a bit. Chest. It still stands. At last Arthur hits the head, and he rushes to Sebastian’s side.

“You reckless goddamn bastard.” Arthur pushes the piled up corpses off Sebastian; man heaved, didn’t look injured. “Buckstubborn is what you are, head first.” A hand helps him up. “You stubborn goddamn buck.”

Sebastian’s knit eyebrows loosen and lips got tugged in a smile for a split second:

“Don’t get over yourself.” Expression is serious again. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” It sounds aloof, ‘cause for a moment he forgot. He forgot they ain’t alone and they’re queer.

“Oh boy, Oh boy! That’s gotta be more of ‘em!” the Cajun says.

They’re enclosing on the house, fast. One jumps over the railing. And its head’s blown clean off. Sebastian takes care of the other two at rapid fire as if he was trying to show off just how good he can handle a gun – among other things. _Jesus Christ _ his ass ain’t recovered yet.

“Out you Devils!” the stranger yells from inside the house.

“Goddamn evil.” Arthur’s left hand is shaking. The sun started rising. A sigh and he goes inside: “Okay. They’re dead.”

“Well, well... okay, I got something for you now.” Man bends down and soon stretches a pile of things wrapped in a pelt.

“Swamp trash?” Arthur huffs.

“No! That’s the good stuff! You’re good men, misters. Decent men.”

“You sure you gonna be okay?” Arthur asks finally.

“ ‘course! They might be dumb, but they ain’t stupid. They ain’t gonna come round no more.”

“But they did come back...” Sebastian confesses.

“Well by the next time they come ‘round I’ll sure be dead of ol’ age.” The Cajun says. “There ain’t been no more Nightfolk ‘round here for the past 5 years. Someone killed more than half o’ them I reckon.”

A glance at Sebastian but the man just looked at his own feet.

“I heard someone even went out and greeted them ‘cause they thought they recognized them. Was that thing with the Pleasance farm.”

“Let’s get back to the kid...” A hand pats Arthur’s back.

“Yeah.” His left arm’s still shaking. Gotta be the wound, ‘cause it’s getting numb.

“Thank you once more misters!”

It’s silence from both of ‘em, until:

“Thank you.” Sebastian sighs. “For back there.”

“Always, Sebastian.” A single finger ghosts over Arthur’s hand after he says that, and man offers him the pinky to hold onto.

Isaac waited patiently for them; a thin trail of blood ran down Ghost’s pale shoulder.

“I’m sorry, girl.” He whispers to her as he climbs back up in the saddle.

“All went well?” Isaac asked. A smell’s already coming off Wofford’s corpse.

“Yeah.” A smile. “Don’t you worry, we got rid of them all.”

“The Bayou ain’t haunted no more.” A dry laugh. “At least for now.”

Isaac squinted at that, but let it be. The road back in mostly silent. Sun rose proper by then, and so did heat and he started thinking how it must’o been in the summer months if this is barely May. They reach the police station and someone, on the other side of the road catches his eye: he met that feller at the Mayor’s party. When was that... 3 days ago?

They spared a glance for each other, then he helped Isaac remove the bounty from Big Sir.

They carried it inside, out the back into the cart, got the hefty bounty and soon returned to their mounts to set off.

But that feller spoke up: “Don’t I- know you?” Arthur takes some steps. “I believe we’ve met. At that ghastly party.”

“Oh,” he remembered. “Evelyn Miller.”

“Unfortunately so-” the writer extends a hand as a salute, then spares a glance for Isaac and Sebastian. “Mister-”

“Arthur Morgan.” He takes the handshake. “At least sometimes...”

“Can I say something rude?”

A moment’s ponder: “Sure...”

“The mayor thinks you robbed him.” Arthur looks away, a step back. “To be clear, he wasn’t very upset about it... He rather liked you.” Miller glances once more at Sebastian. “I’ve seen you too back there, mister.”

Sebastian groans as he dismounts:

“And?”

“Well given the recent circumstances-” Was he referring to Valentini’s death? Because in that case those indeed complicated things. “And well others as well, but, can you steal things?”

Well that was one way to say it: “Is there any reason you want me to incriminate myself, Mister Miller?”

Sebastian stepped closer and the writer backed up, a hand stretching out to the two Indians there with him. He knew their faces too:

“Have you met?- This is Rains Fall, a great chief, and his son Eagle Flies.” By this time Isaac was next to the two of ‘em, looking up at that Eagle Flies.

And the Indian son looked down at Isaac. Rains Fall bowed slightly:

“We saw you and your son in the wagon trains, crossing the river at Cumberland Falls, and at the party you two were upstairs.”

He was impressed, if maybe even a little scared; what else did this man see:

“You have great powers of observation.” Arthur says.

“Yes. My people, if we’re even a people anymore... we fought hard. We made peace treaties and those treaties were broken and we’ve been moved and punished, punished and moved...” Man spoke with sorrow.

A hand rests on Isaac’s shoulders. “I’m sure...”

“Now I am told we are to be moved again.”

“Clearly contravening the peace treaty that was signed three years ago.” Miller intervened and Isaac looked up at him most upset.

Eagle Flies looked at his boy then up at Arthur: “This will lead to war.”

“No, my son, it will not.” Father pats his son’s shoulder: “We cannot fight another war. They have got stronger and we have become far weaker, Mister Morgan.”

He understood. Through some twisted fate Arthur understood. He shakes his head:

“It’s a bad business...” He looks at Isaac; a glance for Sebastian.

“It’s to do with oil.” Miller says. “I know it is. I just need the proof. I believe there were prospectors who were on their land a few months ago and have filed reports with Leviticus Cornwall and the State Government, claiming huge reserves of oil under their land.”

“So you want me to steal it...” And he begged Isaac with a firm hand not to say anything: “I ain’t usually a do-gooder. There’s a price on my head in two states. The Government doesn’t like me anymore than it does you.” But he wants his son to be, so he gotta set the example. “But if it helps-”

Eagle Flies’ expression somehow softens, he looks at his father.

“We can pay you for your troubles, Mister Morgan.” Rain Falls says.

They needed the money.

“Keep it.” Arthur says. “Our time is nigh on done anyway...”

“Thank you.” The Chief spoke with such sincerity it almost left him impressed. “Meet my son at Citadel Rock in a few days.”

“ ‘course.” A pat on Isaac’s back to coax him to mount up.

Miller and the Indians were brought in, he overhears that they’ve been waiting there for hours already and the day’d just started. A sigh:

“Poor bastards...”

“We’re gonna help them.” Isaac spoke up.

“It ain’t that easy, Isaac.” That’s Sebastian. “No matter how much we want to help, there ain’t much we can really do-”

“Outlawing ain’t ever given one some privilege.” Boy was young, but he ain’t dumb. “We’ve been running for as long as I can remember, _fighting_ to stay in one place. ...They sound like they’re the same... So we gotta help, ‘cause then we at least did something... Right?”

This kid... He shouldn’t have grown up the way he did; maybe, maybe if his Pa ain’t been an outlaw his Momma wouldn’t of gotten robbed and killed, he wouldn’t of grown up in a tent and maybe he might of been a doctor or a lawyer. But as it was-

“And we’re gonna help ‘em.” Arthur reassures Isaac. “Even for that little.”

Sebastian sighs; Saint Denis was already behind them:

“ ‘course we gonna help.” The man adds. “It just ain’t gonna be as easy as that.”

“I know...”

“You’re a good kid, Isaac.” Sebastian praises. “And don’t you stop helping folk.”

Isaac looks confused for a moment, pondering why the hell the man told him to keep his hopes down and still help people out. But boy’s got enough time to get it, and for now both of ‘em are here for him. Ah, that sounded like something Dutch and Hosea told him when he was about Isaac’s age. Arthur ain’t got no real parents up until that point, no explanation, no guidance, things just happened and he got drug ever deeper into shit by that maniac of a father he had – and still he kept the man’s hat. What a cruel act that was. He ain’t ever gonna escape this life, his father made sure of it. At least Dutch cultivated some sensibility in him, Hosea some wisdom. And at last he understands that what those two men had was more than just some friendship; through Grimshaw, Anabelle, Bessie, Molly, they stuck together. It was family.

Were they family too? A second generation of a curious couple and their unruly son, like Hosea used to say. He snorts at the thought and Sebastian looks at him funny:

“Ah, don’t mind me.”

“No, but you sure make one curious as to what goes on in your head.”

“Well wouldn’t you wanna find out.” Arthur teases.

“Maybe I will-”

And that makes Isaac laugh; they ain’t sure how much of that the boy caught on to, but he sure did something:

“You can always take a peek in his journal!” Isaac joins in.

Arthur purses his lips, shakes his head and puffs a chuckle: “_That’s_ why I ain’t ever been married. My own son makin’ a fool outta me.”

“Hey, you never said you wanted to.” Isaac’s eyes grow wide and he whips his head back. “But do you want to? Now?”

The pull on the reins is involuntary, a scratch of the beard.

“Men ain’t getting married.” Sebastian cut in and it drains all the enthusiasm out of Isaac, and there’s a pang inside his chest as well.

“Oh... Yeah...” boy bows his head. Sebastian’s still a dandy, or he’s been one for the longest while; he’d know all about that sort of unkindness. “I ain’t ever seen men married like that either...”

“But that ain’t meanin’ two men can’t be fathers.” Arthur speaks up. “Dutch and Hosea are like fathers to me. And they care for each other.”

Isaac lit up again: “Oh!” But Sebastian ain’t as optimistic, and Arthur ain’t about to ask him to be; letting the kid have a bit o’ hope ain’t a bad thing.

They were getting close to camp by now. It’s smelling of woodsmoke and stewed vegetables.

“Arthur!” Javier greets. “How’d it all go?”

He hops down from the saddle; time for some half truths that hopefully people ain’t gonna notice: “We checked out the surroundings of that Lagras. Charles told you about it?” There comes Dutch, Hosea and worst of it, Micah. “And we took a trip to Saint Denis, see how things are holdin’ up following what happened to Valentini. Seems we ain’t wanted. Not yet.” Hosea nods. “Don’t know ‘bout Dutch...” And that scowl the man gave Arthur almost felt it for himself. “But I ain’t seen any Pinkertons.”

“That’s good.” Dutch says at last. “We got a few more days then.”

“We cleared off the freaks in the swamps so it should be good-”

“_Not yet._” Dutch intervenes. “This place is better hidden. People got a roof over their heads.”

Hosea nods sagely and Arthur’s gotta agree and follows suit.

“Oh, Arthur.” Hosea remembered something. “A letter came, think it’s from that Mary girl.”

“Mary?” What could she possibly want from him, she ain’t wanting him ‘cause he’s an outlaw, nor the kid, she made that clear- “Thank you.”

When he turns to Sebastian, man looked somewhat angry in the way eyebrows knitted together, and somehow lost by the glossy gaze he gave him. Isaac just seemed pissed.

“What’s she wantin’ anyway?” Isaac growled climbing upstairs.

Sebastian more or less thuds on the bed there; he’s almost forgotten:

“How’re you holding up, Sebastian?”

Man rotates a painful shoulder and there came the grimace: “I’ll live.”

“You should get yourself some rest.”

“Is that even possible with you around.” A scoff, a chuckle.

“You’re askin’ the wrong person, my friend.”

“_Friend_.” And still Sebastian laid down on the bed while Arthur searched for that damned letter. Took it in his hands: “So what’s that Mary about anyway?”

He wanted to say ‘_Jealous already_’ but Isaac spoke first:

“he liked her when I was real young. She wouldn’t marry him.” A pause. “She wouldn’t have me. I met her some time ago...”

Arthur had to look at the kid and it’s Sebastian that pulls the boy in, grabs his shoulders and tugs at them gently: “Then she’s a fool.”

“Clearly.”

Arthur got to reading the letter:

_Oh, Arthur._

_I’m sorry for how we parted last time. I was surprised to say the least that the son you spoke when we last met was... well, that he stuck around. Oh, I was heartless to you, Arthur. It’s just life is very confusing and it looks like I’m not very good at it._

_It seems we have gotten ourselves into another mess. It’s not my fault, but I need your help. And I know its wrong of me to ask this of you after what I’ve just put you through, but I have nobody else to ask. But if you decide to help, I’m still at the Grand Hotel._

_I hope Isaac is doing well._

_Yours, Mary._

“What’s it sayin’?” Isaac was as impatient as ever and all that he was about to say was to be put under rigorous scrutiny. Sebastian massaged the boy’s back almost as if he’s adopted the role of father entirely.

“She wants me to help her with somethin’. Family business or the like...”

“Can I see the letter?” If it was Isaac who asked he might have not given it, but it was Sebastian and so he passed the paper and the moment he did so the boy hogged it.

“Ew.” Kid grimaced.

“She ain’t that bad.” Arthur tried defending.

“She doesn’t sound too selfless either.” Sebastian commented.

“I know.” Arthur finds himself sitting on the table next to the bed. “We ain’t ever been good people.”

“Maybe you just ain’t seen what’s good in each other.” Sebastian spoke; for once Isaac was quiet. “Or at least one of you didn’t.”

A veiled insult; Saint Denis really did teach you everything.

“I ain’t ever been much’o’a romantic.” He chaffs.

“I don’t get it.” Isaac chimed in.

“You ain’t supposed to get it yet.” his father laughed.

“_I’m 16_.”

“Ye’r _just_ 16\. Ye’r a boy. You got time to be a romantic. Read ‘em books!”

Boy scowls. Sebastian laughs:

“Give him a break.” Man says.

Isaac points at Sebastian: “See, I like him-”

From outside, Dutch: “Arthur if you’re upstairs I hope you come down soon!”

“What’s it this time?!” He shouts back.

“Trelawny!”

Arthur sighs, gets up, slapping his knees. Well then-

“Bring Sebastian down with you. He wants to talk with him.”

And this time it’s a groan and he goes to help Sebastian up:

“Ain’t you said there ain’t no rest for the wicked.”

Somehow that man managed to put a smile on his face, and it somehow felt right; kid wanted him around too. So, there’s comfort in that...

Downstairs, Trelawny waited for them leaned up against a tree.

“There you are, boys!” he croaks.

“Yeah, here we are.” Arthur ain’t as enthusiastic.

“I hope dear ol’ Dutch told you about that high stakes poker game.” Trelawny said and by Sebastian’s face it was clear man had no clue what was going on. “A boat on the Lanahachee River, full of filthy rich Neanderthals. And I was hoping you might have an idea about that, Mister-”

And Sebastian looks offended: “I ain’t sle-”

Trelawny cuts him: “Of course not, dear boy. But you do _know_ them.”

He ain’t relaxed, but somewhat more lenient: “Some of them. I knew Valentini.”

“Quite the character I presume.”

“You have no idea.” It’s growl.

“But that means you got it in yourself to be the brash oilman with money to burn you were always meant to be.”

Sebastian’s eyes grew wide, a look at Arthur, who’s just as surprised.

“I’m afraid Arthur here’s too much brash and too little finesse if you get my meaning-”

“Now that ain’t fair. I ain’t killed that opera lady-”

“That was one in hundreds, dear boy.”

“And you think the people on the boat won’t recognize me?” Sebastian wasn’t convinced.

“Maybe they will. But they surely would have forgotten the place they saw you in, and if they remember no one wants to be called a fairy around all those other stuck-up slicked asses.” Sebastian stood quiet. “And all you have to do is play some poker and act confident. You don’t even have to be _good_ at it. Her Strauss over there will tell you all you need to know about the mark’s cards. Oh, and the dealer is a new friend of mine.”

“Jesus, another one...” Arthur mutters.

“Each to their strengths, dear boy!” Trelawny heard him.

“And who’s this mark anyway?” Arthur continues.

“I can tell you on the way, so, shall we mount up? We need to smarten up a bit.”

Now he’s the one offended: “But we still got some costumes in the back?”

“You got money to burn, dear boy-”

“Or I do in your behalf.” Sebastian gave a smirk.

“So I gotta call you Daddy now-” Arthur retorted and it’s Trelawny that loudly cuts the discussion:

“_Excuse me_ for interrupting such private _matters._” Trelawny was already up on his horse. Sebastian comes last due to injury, they’re on the move and past the gates of Shady Belle.

Arthur hemmed, redirecting attention back to the matter at hand:

“So, who’s the mark?”

“Ah, yes.” Trelawny kicks into gear. “It’s a man called Desmond Blythe. Made his fortune in hosiery of all things. Happen to know him, Sebastian?”

“Can’t say I’ve met him. But I sure heard of his products.”

“Jolly good! Well, he likes to play fast and always keeps some collateral in his safe upstairs. And with our new friend we’ll be sure to be the authors of our own success!”

He sounds so enthusiastic it almost feels as if something’s wrong.

“Oh, and Arthur. You’ll take the place of one of the guards, you know the procedure: knock him out, tie him up, change of clothes. And for the love of God hide the body.”

“Got that.” That’s patronizing, Trelawny and it’s treading on thin nerves.

“Then you meet us in the saloon room and well, wait for when we come up. It’s easy enough. And you can rest assured you have a gun, Arthur, just in case a hot-blooded degenerate like you got jumpy without one.”

“Sure.” The smile’s fake.

Once in Saint Denis it’s onto the tailors. It’s a plain costume he got for himself, but Sebastian got one with a red silk puff tie and a black coat over a maroon vest. And then after they went on to the barber and slicked the man’s hair back with pomade, Arthur started having the feeling his heart’s doing him dirty. What a nasty thing it was to desire, and desire hard so that when he found himself there, he’d smile with just the faintest of sympathies offered. He felt like that for Mary, he did... And maybe she played him like a fiddle just ‘cause of that. But he still ain’t wanting to think badly of her; it ain’t her fault Arthur’s an outlaw and it sure ain’t her fault he’s not changed. And more and more he’s loving this man.

And yes, his ass still stings for him. What a goddamn thought.

Anyway, on to the boat, they left their weapons behind ‘cause sure they just _had_ to ride here with a stagecoach. Trelawny led Sebastian inside alone, hand on the man’s back.

Arthur had to find a ‘change of clothes’. On the other side of the ship there was a single guard by the door that led inside. He squeezed by him to slam into his shoulder with force; the guard took notice, turned around and followed Arthur inside. It was a swift punch to the face and it knocked the man clean out. He looked ahead to see if there were people there that might have been watching – lucky him there ain’t any. Door’s closed and the unconscious body’s thrown into a storage room, tied and gagged. He took the gun and tried to find his way inside, remembering where Trelawny went in.

There they were. Sebastian was playing diligently.

Arthur approached the big door in the middle:

“Patrol over yet?” one of the two guards asks.

“Well there ain’t much people outside.” Arthur replies casually.

“Thank God, here there’s too many.” And the man took off leaving him the spot by the door.

And now he waited, until Sebastian got up victoriously from the table, another gentlemen escorting him to the door and this man knew the guard that should be missing.

“I started here last week.” Arthur says not a moment later, one hand going up in defense.

“Then maybe you can escort us to the office.”

“Follow me gentlemen!” Arthur says.

It’s easy enough to guess which place belonged to Blythe; the highest there was. In they go, man reaches for the safe, Sebastian stands back while Arthur puts himself between that butler and the other guard already there.

A deep inhale. He knocks out the other guard with the bed of the gun and then points the barrel at the man working the safe.

“Sebastian check for another gun.”

And the man does as asked and finds one tucked in his vest, then butler’s thrown against the wall with a kick to the head.

“Shit!” Arthur’s impressed.

And Sebastian smiles back at him.

“Now get those money and the watch and let’s hope no one heard any commotion.”

“Yeah.” Sebastian pockets the loot then looks back at Arthur from that low angle: “Nice uniform by the way.”

They’re downstairs in no time; no, he ain’t replied to that remark, ‘cause he’d surely want to do something about that later somewhere-

Not now. The man that _should _have been tied up got loose and busted through the doors and as always it ends up with bullets raining.

He ain’t knowin’ how Trelawny or _Strauss _for that matter got out, then into the river, and swam all the way to the nearest dock. And the watch was genuine. He kept that, despite Strauss looking pretty damn keen on it.

And Jesus Christ what he’d be willing to do now that he found himself in front of a wet, slightly disheveled, dapper dressed Sebastian panting like he had the time of his life – or was about to. The other two ain’t looking; he could- No.

Instead he settles for one good long kiss, up against the wall back at Shady Belle. He holds him by a soaked middle tight against him until heat bubbles up. He wants that, he wants _him._ Maybe for all the wrong reasons but Sebastian’s doing things to him that he ain’t thought someone outside that one lucky woman could. Kisses up the neck to draw out soft moans, and hands buried deep in Arthur’s hair. There ain't no right words-

The door clicks.

He lets go of Sebastian as Isaac walks in, looks at his father in the eyes then bows his head. A hem. But there was panic on the boy’s face.

“What happened?”

“I can’t find Kieran.”


	11. Four Dark Horsemen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On to saving Kieran!

“Did you see that kid Kieran?” Arthur asks Dutch next day; asked the others too, no one knew a damn thing, but all of ‘em said something of Kieran being scared the O’Driscolls been stalking him.

And there’s an idea already forming...

“No.” Dutch replies, then, letting his book down: “Why do you care?”

Kieran van Der Linde is what that boy said once when the three of ‘em went fishing, but there’s more than just mere sympathy:

“If the O’Driscolls took ‘im then they know we’re here and they’re gonna blast us all to hell.”

“You really believe he ain’t just run off?”

“If he ain’t run off ‘till now, why’d he do it?” A pace away. He’s trying to convince Dutch go let them have a look – or maybe he ain’t needing no permission; him and Sebastian are enough to take down the lot of ‘em. “Besides he was still a prisoner.”

Dutch laughed: “Where you even getting these ideas from, my friend?”

Arthur shakes his head, scoffs: “Well... thanks anyway...”

“I need you to stay _strong_, Arthur.”

More and more those words feel somehow empty, like he’s bringing them up just so he has the last word. But Dutch’s always been like this, why is he only now taking notice of it? Was it Blackwater? Was it Isaac? Was it Sebastian and Isaac? Who the hell knows... But this doubt’s starting to itch inside him and more and more he’s feeling like he’s tearing this place apart and the reasoning behind it is as vague as a pang inside his chest and a ‘It ain’t right’ dangling inside his skull. It feels like it’s all become a chore, suffocating like this goddamn swamp and how goddamn good it felt to get out and do fishing with the kid, Sebastian. What fun they had catching that monster o’a sturgeon.

A sigh, ‘cause he’s still wanting to find out what the hell happened to that Kieran boy. He loves these people, Dutch, Hosea, John, Charles, Lenny, Sean, the women, everyone. He always did it all for them. Why stop now?... And he’d mount up, but instead just ends up giving scratches to Ghost. The bullet wound doesn’t seem to bother her all that much anymore.

If he were to go, Isaac’ll have to come with him.

“You know I saw a couple of them O’Driscoll Boys runnin’ around.” That’s Sadie’s voice.

“Oh, really?” Arthur turns around

“Yeah.” She even climbs in the saddle. “No one seems to care when I get out of camp so I followed them around a bit. Seems they’re holed up in some abandoned town in Lemoyne.”

His face lights up.

“Can you tells us-”

“I’m riding with you, Arthur. I can’t forgive them, you know that.”

“And Kieran?”

“Boy’s harmless. A bit whiny, but harmless.”

“Okay.” Arthur rubs his chin. “ ‘kay. You wait here, I’m gonna get some people.”

“The two of us is all we need.”

“I know, but my heart ain’t letting me.”

Sadie snorts: “You’re one sappy old man.”

“Very funny.” Arthur beckons as he gets back upstairs; Sadie’s got her charm about her, never once sounding truly mean spirited.

Inside Sebastian was still asleep; man barely got any rest last night, tossing and turning, breaking into cold sweat. He even managed somehow to scratch a scab away. It bled. Isaac found himself something to read, legs to chest, on the floor against the dresser by the bedside.

“Mornin’.”

“Mornin’.” His son greets back with a thin smile.

“Got any breakfast?”

Isaac shakes his head and places the book on the dresser behind him.

“Get downstairs and eat somethin’, Isaac. Pack some for the road too.”

Boy gets up: “Where we headed?”

“Getting that kid Kieran back.”

Isaac’s eyes grew wide: “Ain’t that official business?”

A look at him, a sigh: “No.”

It’s a bit too much o’a request for a boy like Isaac but his childhood’s fast coming to an end and no matter how much he tried keeping him clean from outlawing and gunslinging, the noose’s getting tighter by the day and he’s much rather know his son can fight than lose him ‘cause he ain’t been enough a man to teach him.

Maybe he ain’t ever been much of a man to begin with, all queer like he is – he heard Tilly insulting Bill like that once. She knew, they all knew, and now Arthur ain’t no different.

“Okay.” But his son still trusts him; and that’s enough.

Arthur sits on the edge of the bed, compelled to run a hand through the rough hair on the side of Sebastian’s head, lean in, whisper something for good morning.

“Good mornin’, you stubborn ol’ buck.” He did just that in the end.

“I’m middle-aged.” Sebastian muses, a smile drawing on thin lips.

“And I’m a grandparent.”

A snort. A flutter of brown doe eyes, then an inhale as Sebastian tries to turn on the other side:

“Good morning to you too.” A stretch, then a grunt and the man rolls back to face Arthur: “What you up to?”

“Finding that boy Kieran. I want you to ride with me.”

“Always.” It’s soft the way he says that and once more Arthur finds himself running fingers through the rough hair on the side of the man’s head.

“Managed to catch some sleep?”

As hand threatens to let go Sebastian catches it into his own; holds it.

“Not really...”

“What kept you up?” A sigh; he looks away and Arthur squeezes his hand. “Talk to me, would you...”

A huff, a tug of the arm closer: “I’m _afraid_... That they gonna take it all- and then I remember I have nothing left anyway...”

“That ain’t it, Sebastian.”

“If this counts-“ another tug of the arm. “If this is me having something how do I know it ain’t gonna end up the same. You. _The kid._ _Why are these fucking things up again-_” He growls, suppresses a sob, the closes his eyes and exhales with difficulty.

“Sebastian...” And the man draws him closer in. “You gotta trust ye’rself. And you gotta trust this poor ol’ fool’s luck, ‘cause he ain’t died just yet.” It’s absent minded again how he touches the medallion, ‘cause it dangles heavy from the neck, and Sebastian catches that.

Looping an arm around Arthur’s back the man props himself up with yet another groan.

“I ain’t seen anyone more stubborn than you.” Arthur speaks up again.

“Yeah. Me either...”

He liked that: looking at him. He’s handsome and not deserving the shit this world gave him.

“Now let’s get that kid Kieran.”

“Yeah.” Determination grows on Sebastian’s features.

Downstairs they couldn’t help running into Sean; boy’s been frantic trying his best to keep up with camp chores and whatnot, but somehow still ended up sleeping somewhere in some uncomfortable pose. He ain’t gonna question that. And maybe that was for the worst ‘cause now Sean tagged along with them and the moment he saw Isaac there lad knit his eyebrows and felt like he swore on Christ and the Virgin Mary not to let any harm come to the boy. And that’s just hoping trouble ain’t finding Sean first.

But Sadie ain’t protested so it’s the 4 of them and the kid that set out and for now he ain’t as scared as he could be.

The road takes them past Caliga Hall, towards the Kamassa River, they follow the water’s bend, until he recognizes the Eris Fields to their left, and further up ahead he remembers that bridge: took towards the Marshes, Bluewater were they called? Sadie rode hard the entire time. Sean tried talking, maybe ‘cause he ain’t doing good in the silence, but silence’s what he got.

“If we’re lookin’ for a spooky place that one’s pretty much fittin’ the description.” Sean spoke again.

It looked like an abandoned town. He’s passed here before, he remembers that collapsed church, the graves. Isaac read them all –all died 1893, just a month after it was all built. And at that moment Isaac looked at him:

“Ain’t this?-”

Sadie jumped down from saddle: “We take it from foot here.” She took her gun.

“We sure there’s O’Driscoll’s there?” Sean wasn’t all convinced. “It’s lookin’ pretty quiet for the lot of ‘em if you ask me.”

“There still looks to be guards out.” Sebastian intervened. “Look. There.”

A man in the characteristic green, slumped over with what looked like a riffle for support. He ain’t looking at all lively. Something felt off.

“Me and Sadie go up ahead.” Arthur said. “Sean, Sebastian, you hang back for support in case there’s more o’em coming from behind-” Sean almost protested. “Don’t want a _word of it_, Sean. Isaac, you too, go with ‘em.”

His son picked out the riffle that was now stored on Big Sir – it previously belonged on Ghost.

No turning back now; Sadie already went up ahead. It’s with big steps that Arthur follows behind, one pat on the revolver’s bed, synching his movement for a quick draw. Hands quickly return to holding the Repeater.

It’s Sadie that shoots first; there was no opposition from that guard except one panicked jerk up. Body falls. She rushes inside. Arthur takes one more glance back at the other three before heading in himself. There’s already gunshots. A scream from Sadie. Guns blazing, there’s already 2 dead inside. Arthur adds another to the count.

“There’s more in the other room!” Sadie shouts, and indeed O’Driscolls pour out.

One’s shot right in the doorframe; the one behind stumbles over it. He meets the same crude fate with a bullet to the head. Arthur took care of the 2 other left in that main room.

There’s gunshots outside now too. And a muffled scream for below the floorboards. Kieran? Sadie caught that too: her gaze darts downwards.

“Guess he’s in the cellar-” Arthur speaks but he ain’t getting to finish that.

Sadie rushes by him joining the gunfight outside. A peak out: there’s at least 13 of them. But he ain’t sure about the rest of ‘em.

They gotta hold out.

“Com’on.” Arthur psyches himself up while darting past the battlefield.

There’s a few stray bullets that try to get a hold of him. Better luck next time. He searches for the entrance to the cellar- Another O’Driscoll jumps out, knife in hand. Arthur darts back; the tip of the blade cut his vest. Arthur ducks and tackles the other with force to the ground. Man swats the knife, before dropping it on impact. Fists come raining and the O’Driscoll ain’t moving soon, face a pool of blood.

It’s only now he notices the rashes on the man’s skin. The fact that he had a gun he ain’t used... Heart sinks. He turns the downed O’Driscoll’s face with the tip of his boot as he stood up, the skin looked like that of a carcass and that can’t all be his doing...

He gotta find that Kieran soon, that if these bastards ain’t eaten him alive, or worse yet, left the job half finished.

There’s the cellar. He blasts the lock open with the sawed-off shotgun and dashes inside. There ain’t no light down there and Arthur’s feelin’ like it takes too goddamn long until he fumbles the lantern alight. There’s growling around him.

And when he shines light into the room he sees no less than three O’Driscolls drooling and clattering their teeth, hogtied with rope, as if they belonged in an insane asylum. And then there’s Kieran, bound and gagged with an arm bleeding. When seeing Arthur boy struggles against the restraints.

“I gotchu now, stay calm.” Kieran relaxes onto the chair as he goes to cut off the rope and take the gag out.

One glance is spared for that wounded arm: someone gnawed at it. _Jesus Christ!_ Poor bastard... And as soon as he’s free Kieran clutches that arm against his chest with his other one. A hand on the back to guide him out. The gunshots stopped.

“Th-thank you, Arthur.” Kieran mutters on the stairs.

“Don’t you worry ‘bout it.”

“Y-you saved my life...”

“You saved mine once before, it’s the least I could do.”

“I... Thank you.”

Arthur pats the boy on the back: “It’s okay, kid.”

“Arthur!” That’s Sean calling, he came running. “Sebastian’s calling for ya’.”

Arthur strides forward, letting go of Kieran, then before he forgot turns to them: “Sean, help him up on Big Sir, would you.”

“Sure.”

When he reaches around the house, Sebastian was buzzing from place to place like an angry hornet while Sadie stared at the barn doors. They were sealed shut and it read: STAY OUT PLAGUE. A hand rushes up to cover his mouth and rub his beard. _Christ._ So a plague is what caused them undead.

He goes to meet Sebastian, whose head was in the ground, deep in thought; man wanted to shake Arthur off when he put his hands on his shoulders.

“Look at me.” Arthur tells him quietly. “Sebastian-”

“That Cajun was right.” Sebastian growls, muscles releasing the tension they were holding before. “If only I was here back then-” Arthur holds him firmer. “Joseph might still be-”

“Shshsh...” Hand switch from cupping the man’s shoulders to cupping his face, but Sebastian grits his teeth and grips Arthur’s collar between his fists.

“You don’t get it. I let this happen. It’s my fault-”

“You ain’t lettin’ it happen again.” His voice raises only to meet Sebastian’s volume.

“PA!” Isaac shouts from somewhere, and his attention’s fully focused on that now; and so’s Sebastian. “Com’ere a moment!”

They both rush to do so.

There’s more writing on the walls of that home: BEWARE RUVIC, though he ain’t sure if that’s an C or a K ‘cause half of it is missing’, the other smudged off at the corner. He also ain’t sure if RUVIC’s two words or one. Arthur takes out his journal and the engraved pen from his satchel to start drawing it. The blue lines hold out better.

“You think that’s a name?” Isaac asks.

“Could be.” Sebastian muses. “Or some abreviation.”

“From what?”

“Don’t know.”

“We gonna find that out.” Arthur scratches his beard again, “But first we gotta take Kieran back. Those undead took a bite outta him.”

Isaac’s mouth hangs open, while Sebastian’s scrunches shut.

“He’s on your horse, Isaac, you can go on ahead.”

Boy nods, springs up and sprints away.

Sadie hands back and so does Sean:

“So what the hell’s this all about?” Sean speaks up.

“It’s some disease.” Sebastian says, mounting up. “It turns people idiots and deranged.”

Isaac’s off already, Kieran holding onto the boy for dear life ‘cause Big Sir sprung straight to a swift gallop.

“So they lose the ability to speak and go wild like animals?” Sadie asks.

“Pretty much.” Arthur chimes in. “Saw a couple of ‘em chained up in the basement next to Kieran.”

“And they gain a taste for human flesh.” Sebastian elaborate further.

“_Jesus!_” Sean and Sadie alike.

“Ain’t sounding like it’s anythin’ natural.” Sean throws out his opinion.

“Are people even capable of doing that?” Sadie ain’t fully convinced.

“If RUVIC’s anything to go by,” Sebastian starts. “I’d say it’s a human. Or a bunch o’em.”

Sadie sighed: “Then it’s a good thing we got rid of ‘em, I say.”

“Yeah.” Sean chimed in.

The road back feels faster, mind’s a’gallop, runnin’ to catch some coherence before it goes entirely insane. It ain’t no wonder such things are making Sebastian toss at night. They tortured him once before and now came for seconds. And for that man’s sanity and the hope that the world ain’t entirely gone to shit they gotta find some reason to this – the man, or men, behind it all.

And for that they gotta set out again.

Only their welcome back ain’t one reserved for victors.

“What you done now, Morgan...” Micah cackles from where he was leaned on a tree, sharpening something with a knife.

He ain’t replied, but Dutch glared at him as if he just murdered a gang member. He can’t stand it, and soon neither can Dutch:

“Did I tell you you can go fetch him, Arthur?” Tone’s low and scolding.

“I told you why.”

“_Not _that you were_ actually going through with it?_” Dutch stepped forward, eyebrows drawn together. Arthur squared his shoulders. “What the hell happened to you, Arthur?...”

“Could ask the same of you, Dutch...” They’re measuring each other up with glances. “What happened to taking care of folk?”

“And what happened to loyalty, son?...”

“Been loyal, Dutch. Always.”

Dutch slowly backs away as if he’s letting Arthur have this, but no, now he spoke louder: “Then don’t _you_ trust _my judgment!?_”

“Well, me and Sadie felt different.” Arthur retorts.

“Then what next!? You gonna feel different and put a gun to my head, Arthur?”

“Now that ain’t true.” Sean butts in. “Ain’t you heard him, he cares for folk. It’s why we all went to get that other Irish bastard. Can’t stand the focker but I ain’t standing Micah either ‘n Arthur busted that walkin’ shite outta prison anyway.”

Dutch’s scowl could have murdered on its own. Arthur holds Sean back before either of ‘em draw or throw a punch.

And in all o’ this Hosea was quiet. But Sadie wasn’t:

“Unless you wanted to fight diseased, half dead, feral O’Driscolls I’d say we did you a favor.”

“The what?...” Now Hosea spoke up.

“Yeah.” Sadie continued. “The bastards that came and took Kieran were more dead than alive.”

“Found 3 of ‘em chained up in the basement growling and drooling like animals.” Isaac chimes in.

Dutch’s eyes grow wide.

“Ain’t you seen the bastards bit chunks of that boy’s arm off?” Sadie continues.

“... I guess in that case... thank you.” Hosea at least had the dignity to accept defeat. Dutch didn’t, just stood quiet where he was. “Arthur... Maybe you should keep an eye out for that.”

“Already on it, me an’ Sebastian. Found this person, RUVIC, his name on the walls where Kieran was held.”

“Okay...” Hosea sounded half terrified. “I’ll see if I can poke my nose into it too.”

“Thank you, Hosea.”


	12. Putrid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things try to return to normal after rescuing Kieran, but something cracked with that and nothing's the same as it once was. The need for closure grows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter, i think the longest so far at 8000 words. Contains some smut.

“How’re you feelin’?” Arthur asks Kieran that evening after things settled down a lil’.

“Dizzy.” The boy was still nursing his injured arm, looking rather pitiful. Grimshaw bandaged it “But I guess it’ll heal.”

“Unless you catch the fever.” Sean mocked.

It felt isolated the way all of ‘em that went away were the ones around this fire. That and Charles. Isaac fell asleep in Arthur’s arms; must have exhausted him being in an actual gunfight.

“Shut up!” Kieran mused up the courage.

Sean laughs: “Keep tryin’.”

And the kid scowls, and changes the subject: “Sadie, I ain’t got the time to thank you. I-I know you ain’t- I mean-”

“I don’t hate you.” She says drily. “But don’t you think we’re friends either.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t even think of it.” A pause. “I’m still sorry for what happened to Jack.”

“That’s done now.” Arthur says, brushes a few strands of hair from Isaac’s forehead. “We keep goin’.”

“An’ what ‘bout Dutch?” Sean interrupts.

Arthur just lets out a long sigh.

“Ain’t seen him that... what you call it?” Sean continued.

“Unhinged?” Charles chimes in.

“... Well... Without morals I mean. You went back for me, you did. And that pile of cowdungs that’s Micah.”

Arthur coughs a laugh at that; hearing Sean insult Micah in increasingly creative ways ain’t ever gonna get old.

“Guess I’m still an O’Driscoll to them- to Dutch at least. I mean it ain’t makin’ sense goin’ to rescue me-”

“The fewer O’Driscolls the better.” Sadie’s stone cold. “Just want them all gone. Every. Single. Last one o’em bastard.”

“I’m so sorry, Sadie...” Kieran truly sounds heartbroken and it seems he ain’t ever heard the story of what happened to her. “Truly I am-”

“I don’t want your pity, kid.” She spits.

Sebastian puts a hand on Kieran’s back before the boy gets to speak again.

“I think we all need to rest now-” Arthur tried.

Sean won’t have it: “Can’t rest now thinkin’ Dutch might just lemme rot if I were to get lost even just a lil’ bit, or worse put a bullet in me head ‘cause I said somethin’ he ain’t liked. It gave me the chills hearin’ him talk like that- how long’s it been for you Arthur? In the gang I mean?”

“20 years.”

“20 years and ye think that’ll gain a man some respect...”

“Ye’r thinkin’ too much lately, Sean.” Arthur chuckles.

“Ain’t you always said to use me noggin?!”

“Well it’s better that you don’t right now.”

“That ain’t fair, Arthur.”

A hand comes to rest on Arthur’s shoulders and everyone looks up: Hosea.

“Managed to calm the ol’ man down.” He says, taking a seat by Arthur and Isaac. And Hosea brushes the boy’s head with the same care as his actual father. “You really upset him this time ‘round, Arthur.”

A sigh: “I know...”

“It’s better if you apologize-”

“Yeah.” Arthur didn’t let him finish. “I ain’t meant it to end the way it did... I just-”

“No, I understand.” Hosea continues. “Things are... let’s say complicated.” It’s Sebastian that looks at the old man, knowingly. “And it’s the same for our good ol’ Dutch there. He cares for you, Arthur.”

“I know...” voice drops penitently.

“He fears he’s gonna lose a dear old friend-”

“But I can’t just sit an’ do nothin’!” Arthur sighs.

“Raising the boy made you real caring, ain’t it?”

“I guess...” A scratch of the beard, a purse of lips: “But you know how it was.”

“No, I ain’t blaming you.” Hosea lifted his hands defensively. “I’ve just been thinking that things feel like slipping. Ever since Blackwater.” Charles and Sean nodded. “And with you being gone more often I feel somehow older.” Old man gave a bitter laugh, followed by a dry cough. “I feel-” a drawn-out exhale. “I feel like I don’t have the strength to hold all together anymore.”

Arthur’s silent and if he wouldn’t be holding Isaac he’d try to comfort Hosea with a touch.

“It’s too much to ask this of you, Arthur... But here I am.”

“Hosea-”

“English’s tryin’.” Sean butts in, sounding somewhat more quiet than usual, and still that was some courage from him for all the trouble Hosea gave him for laziness. “I mean I ain’t knowin’ why the hell’ll save this soggy ol’ bread.” He gestured to Kieran and the kid scowled.

“It was certainly lucky.” Hosea replies. “It’s true that if the O’Driscolls found Kieran in the camp they knew where we were and could of come with even more men. But the undead- I mean there were legends among Creoles about something called zonbi. I guess the people around here should know something if there's a plague and if we're in any danger of getting it.”

Arthur nods: "I'm comin' with you."

"Well if you got the disposition.. I think bringing this to Dutch soon will appease him somewhat and make it all seem like less of an act of defiance."

"O'course."

Arthur goes to stand up, almost forgets Isaac in his arms. And he's also reminded of that letter…

"And I guess I'll go see Mary."

"Her?" Sean's surprised. "Ain't you got done with that long ago?... I mean no offense but I heard the stories..."

John couldn't keep his mouth shut, that and _Uncle_.

"I was, but she popped up again." A sigh. "But I ain't deserving her and she ain't deserving me. So I gotta end things. Proper this time…"

"You want me to come with you?..." Sebastian spoke quietly until voice died down completely and he pursed his lips as if he said something wrong.

"I…" Arthur tried to find words. "I would-"

"Rather do that alone. Yes…" He cuts him. "I get that…"

The world ain't kind to lovers like them.

"I'm sorry, Sebastian…"

But Sebastian gave a smile:

“You and Hosea take care out there.” Arthur nods. “I’ll get Isaac upstairs.” And now, trying his best to not wake the boy up he lifts him up, but Isaac’s eyes flutter awake.

Sebastian holds him up and Isaac mutters a half asleep: “Pa?”

“Go get some rest kid, you earned it” Father smiles to his son and one could see the pride that flushes on the boy’s cheeks as he’s lulled away with care.

And Christ, he'd love to kiss Sebastian right now, to give him the courage to see Mary, 'cause he's feeling like he'll go soft and weak again. A touch of the necklace; he’s still there. A deep breath in.

“Well… guess we should get goin’...” Arthur gets up from the log he was standing on: “Rest up, Kieran. Take blankets from upstairs if you need to.”

“T-thank you, Arthur.”

The road to Saint Denis he could do in his sleep by now, and with the sun setting like it was he almost did. Hosea didn’t talk, only coughed from time to time. Then:

“Arthur… I… Maybe there’s no good place to ask or say this, but- Do you remember how me and Dutch met? Back in ‘72?”

“ ‘Course I do.” Heart started to shrink in his chest; he knew what came after this.

“And is there anything that you want to tell me about you and...”

“There ain’t much to it...” a sigh; it ain’t even been that long ago. “Man saved my sorry ass just ‘cause Isaac happened to be with me and he happened to have been a childless father-” Another sigh, or maybe it was a defeated groan: “What you want from me, Hosea? ‘cause I ain’t knowin’ how I got here, just know that I goddamn did...”

Hosea remained quiet for a while; there was Saint Denis with all its electrical glory, there to illuminate fossils and human scum, then: “He strikes me as a good man. Sebastian I mean...”

“Ain’t I keepin’ a record of courting people much better than myself...” a bitter laugh. He’s going to see that Mary again; what a sad, deluded fool he was... “Guess we should be splittin’ up about here.”

“I’ll meet you back around here.”

Where were they even? Well that looked like the Police Station, by the way lawmen buzzed around the entrance. She’s at the Grand Hotel just a street further. Sun’s almost done setting by the time he reaches the structure, head’s bowed low and he ain’t even truly looking for her. There’s a pit in his stomach, gnawing at him. And then she hears her from above him:

“Arthur! Arthur you came!”

He dismounts, looks up for a brief moment: “Yeah, I came...”

“Wait there! I’m coming straight down” She had a bright smile on her face as she rushes downstairs.

Arthur takes a deep breath in: there were people staring and he throws them a glance. It ain’t none of their business, and he fears it’s hardly his own. Oh what a fool he’ll make of himself once more; seems to be a trend when it came to Arthur Morgan and love...

Dumb love... Is he going to let this one slip away as well. A scratch of the beard then hand goes down to rub the necklace. Christ!

She’s downstairs already: “Arthur...” She sounds as in love as she ever was, and to think back to how her face drained of color upon seeing Isaac...

“Hello, Mary.” He can’t match her enthusiasm.

“You came...” Arthur just nods. “How’s the boy? Isaac was his name?”

At last he gains the courage to look her in the eyes, it almost sounded like she cared and it’s tearing at him. If only she could of been a mother. If only he could have been anything but an outlaw. But things ain’t changed; she told him they never would. But maybe he just hasn’t been looking in the right places all this time. Sebastian ain’t no woman, but there ain’t no question that man _loved_ Arthur, with all his biggest flaws and the son to boot – or maybe the son was the only reason Arthur was deserving of love in the first place. And with that tightness in his chest thinking of him now when Mary was right before him, Arthur surely seemed to love just as much in return...

He hasn’t replied in a while: “Arthur?... What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.” He purses his lips, shifts weight from one leg to the other. “The boy’s fine. Been a long day...” But she needed his help with something: “But what you called me for?”

She tucks her hands into each other: “Well... Daddy-”

“Your father!?” He’s offended but not surprised: “Should of known...” He takes steps away.

“Arthur! I’m sure you’d understand, being a father yourself and all...” she follows him, voice pitched.

Arthur spins on his heels: “Well at least I’m aware I’m a no good father, unlike your own.”

She purses her lips: “I know Daddy wasn’t kind to you... but... but can you hate a man for the sin of loving his daughter?...”

“What ‘bout his son? Jaime?” Arthur takes a stride forward. “Look where all that love got him! Running with a bunch of lunatics! And you! Is that where this pure life has gotten you!? Begging _me_ for help?! ‘cause he no doubt went drinking and whoring and gambling?!”

Mary turns away almost putting her hands in her head: “Be _kind to me!_... Arthur...”

But Arthur spins away once more, his voice low once again:

“Were you kind to me, Mary? Were you kind calling my son a degenerate, tellin’ me I haven’t even tried, when I did. _I did, Mary._ It’s why I came, but I see now I’ve come all this way for nothin’...”

“Arthur!... Oh Arthur, I’m- I’m sorry...” He lets her draw close. “I... I missed you.”

And he looks at her, how she stretches her hands out for him to hold them. He does, only to fold them in on themselves, back towards the woman’s chest: 

“I missed you for a long time, Mary. But it’s done now. I may be the best man you know at frightening decent people, but _for my son_, I cannot.”

He withdraws his hands:

“Okay... Arthur...” She’s heartbroken and when she wants to tear her gaze away it falls down on his neckline, the medallion. A moment’s ponder; Arthur already drew away: “Can I at least know if... Is there someone else?”

“Yes.” And he hoped that was enough.

“... Can I know who?”

He climbs back in the saddle with a deep inhale: “You read the name on the medallion...” Her eyebrows knit together before a hand hides her mouth from hanging loose “Be well, Mary...”

She says not a word more and Arthur finds himself sitting on the sidewalk back at the police station, head in hands, rubbing his face until it’s no doubt red. To love a man, what a goddamn fool he is. A moron even. Dug himself into a hole there ain’t no escaping from; all he once had felt torn away bit by bit and all his attempts at stitching it back together with reasons that worked before no longer did. He betrayed Dutch horribly with one simple act. Ain’t it of been better if he was purely ruthless and not wanting to do something that ain’t his domain: kindness? He ain’t a do-gooder, he murders people, animals; he maims whatever he can get his hands on, even hope for the goddamn future. And somehow this broken mess that he was became a father and had to raise the kid ‘cause his Momma was killed – and he thought that’s been in no small part thanks to himself, the way the boy was fathered.

He’s afraid he’s gonna lose the boy too somewhere, sometime... And the thought _hurts_ more than he can bear. He sits up to try to shake the feeling, gets inside, maybe he can make something of use.

And there was a man there putting up a poster.

“That a bounty poster, mister?” Arthur asks with a sniff and a faked cough; he’s keeping the tears away.

“Indeed.” The man had an almost pristine white coat, and what looked like some burn scar on his face. “Are you a bounty hunter, mister?”

“Happen to be, yes.”

“And are you efficient?”

“Took down the Captain of the Lemoyne Raiders so I guess I ain’t too bad neither.”

“Good.” Man stops pinning the poster and hands it over to Arthur, and soon after a card too: “Here’s my address. Bring the bounty to my house please.”

“Not the police station?” That was odd.

“Oh, no. I have a permit for taking care of psychically unstable people. You see, I’m a psychiatrist.”

“And what you needin’ a bounty for?”

“Ah, well, I also happen to be a scientist. And my newest invention is in need of a subject.”

“Yeah, but why a bounty-”

“It’s a device made to administer an effective, painless death, mister.”

Arthur grunts: “ ‘kay. But I’m afraid I ain’t caught your name.”

“Victoriano.”

Another Italian?... Although he sounded British. But that ain’t no business of his; Arthur’ll just return to sitting outside, waiting for Hosea.

He must have fallen asleep ‘cause the man shook him awake:

“Let’s go Arthur. I’ll tell you on the way.”

He snorts and grunts getting back up on Ghost, how late was it even?

“So, what you found out, Hosea?”

“Well, not much, but you definitely ain’t been wrong-”

“I know what I saw, Hosea. People call’em Night Folk.”

“Yes, yes. People are afraid to go out in the Bayou ‘cause of them, especially at night. Some said they were spirits of slaves that died, others claim they’re people turned mad by something in the water.”

That caught his attention. “So the water in the swamp ain’t safe?”

“I fear so too, yes.”

“So what we gonna do about that? Boil all water? ‘cause we’re still in the Bayou.”

“It’s worth the try.”

“That also means that Lakay spot me and the boys found ain’t safe.”

“Yes...” Hosea was terribly distraught.

“What about what Bill and Micah found?”

“Well they said it was full of degenerates, a gang called Murfree’s Brood, I think. Said they acted like animals, that they had a mutilated corpse propped up at the entrance like some kind of trophy.”

“Christ!” No more places to hide for them... “We’re running out of time, Hosea...”

“It’s the last push, this one. We’ll be gone soon. Dutch found a boat, wants us to leave the country.”

A bitter laugh: “And you believe that?”

“Well I can’t have been running a fool’s errand all these years. And if I was I guess I just convinced myself it ain’t true just so I have one last thing to cling to.” Hosea sighs after that. “But I’m old, Arthur. For me it doesn’t matter that much where it ends, how it ends. I lived my life, but Isaac, Jack-”

“I ain’t letting no harm come to that boy, I swear.”

“I know. I raised you two both. Isaac’s the closest thing to a grandson I’ll ever have. Bessie loved him...”

“I remember. She’d smother him all up.” A chuckle. “And the kid loved it to bits, having no mother and all...”

“Don’t blame yourself for that, you did all that you could have done.”

“And still I ain’t been a good father. I ain’t been _meant_ to be a father-”

“Think of it as it could have been a lot worse, Arthur.” Hosea doesn’t stand his self-doubt. Never did.

And still, to think Hosea believed him and the boy should somehow get out of this life came as a surprise but comfort too, and courage.

People were asleep back at Shady Belle. It was crickets, the crackling of fire and the occasional snore that broke the silence. They hitched the horses beyond the bridge before passing over and that’s when he saw Sebastian slumped next to the campfire he left from. Heart sinks to the bottom of his guts.

“Goodnight, Arthur.” Hosea salutes before splitting their ways.

“ ’night.”

Sebastian wasn’t asleep when he reached him; just looked up at him, a bottle of whiskey in hand and a smoking cigarette in the other:

“Everything a’right?” he asked trying on some sobriety.

“Her father’s a no-good bastard an’ she calls me for help with that after degrading the way I raised my son.” A deep inhale and Arthur sits down beside him.

“Oouch.” Sebastian slurred, leaned closer then stopped. “Wanna go stroll a lil’? ‘Round the back of Shady Belle.”

“Sure-” Arthur helps the man up not a moment later.

It’s pitch black for a moment, as the light of the campfires still flickered behind them, but once ‘round the corner, a dim blue light illuminated the side of the manor, the trees and their faces. But Sebastian slips behind his back, wrapping his arms around his chest, face nestled in the crook of his neck, breathing slow. A pleasant shiver runs down his spine and Arthur dares keep that inhale in as he closes his eyes. There’s things he wanna say, things he wanna hear Sebastian speak about, but he just keeps quiet, ‘cause words cram in his mouth and nothing’s right. And there’s that feelin’ croppin’ up again, and those thoughts that he mulled over at the police station come racing back. Arthur’s clinging to him now. Mary ain’t ever touched him like this. But they were different people.

There’s still a whiskey bottle in the man’s hands. Arthur takes it and draws a bit away:

“Bet you I can drink this whole bottle in one sip?”

“Arthur-”

Too late, the bottle’s neck is to his lips and the liquor drains into his mouth and with big gulps down his throat. Higher and higher. It burns, his chest caught flames. Then it’s done and he throws the bottle away. He gives a laugh:

“Told you I can-” then his knees buckle underneath him and he falls to the ground.

Sebastian’s quick enough to catch him, but not quick enough so that they don’t end up on the muddy ground.

What a pitiful man he was; eyes become watery:

“It’s caught up to me... This mess...”

Sebastian rests his head on his shoulder: “You and me both...”

Arthur cups the man’s face as soon as his says that.

“You’re gonna get out-” It’s his only promise, when sober and when drunk alike: “You have to, you and the kid-”

“Shut _up_-” It’s lips on lips, rough, Sebastian’s hands pinning him down.

And he don’t understand what that’s supposed to mean, just huffs into the kiss.

“Shut up, you fool, you-” It’s sloppy, words panted when mouths ain’t on each other. “I can’t go on alone.” Sebastian stops, bows his head and buries it back in the crook of Arthur’s neck.

“You love me?...” A question, voice is breaking apart.

A kiss on his neck to make Arthur gasp out: “ ‘course I do-”

“For _me?_ I ain’t worth it- Agh!” Sebastian bit into his neck at that remark.

“Who the fuck else...”

“Isaac...”

“You both.” His nose rubs against the itching spot that was left behind. Then man shifts up, cups Arthur’s face, coaxing the head back, exposing the neck. “Arthur...” Another kiss trailing up from his collarbone. “_Arthur-_” The way that name slips out of his lips makes his pants wanna set up a tent. “I’m starting to make sense of things. With you.” A kiss on his jaw. “With you...”

Arthur strings him up by the thighs, stretching them apart until he’s straddled under Sebastian. And the man pants with the touch:

“You buckstuborn idiot- I thought of you.” Arthur muses, lifting his chin just slightly up, brushing his lips against the other’s where they ghosted above him. “She was right there, in front of me, and I thought of you... I loved her. I missed her...”

_And now I miss you._

That he ain’t dare say it’s too much even for a drunken sap like he was.

Sebastian lunges in to devour his mouth once more, body grinds against Arthur’s; there’s whiskey on his breath, on his tongue. Cheap cigarettes, cheap liquor and cheap life choices ‘cause they’re both poor and got nowhere else to go. He’s gotten drunk so he ain’t gotta be afraid, of thoughts, of actions, of whatever the hell. He’s gotten drunk so he can be numb to the meaning of all these feelings. But not to touch.

And no one touched him like Sebastian did. Why is all he could ask. Why’s he deserving, why now, why Sebastian – why this moron that he was- And all this fighting raging on in his mind makes him grind the man against himself. It’s tights now and there’s a bulge bucking against his abdomen. Pants escape him. Wasn’t religion that talked about how the body desires without the mind consenting to it, ‘cause that’s what he wanted now.

“Sebastian-”

“Mhm-” the man purrs into the next kiss, coaxing him up. The grinding don’t stop.

“I-”there’s too much to say, mostly alcohol induced. “Shit-” There’s mud in his hair, on his clothes. It’s dirty work. _They’re in camp-_

He stops suddenly.

“You okay?” Sebastian runs a hand through sticky hair.

A single huff as he leans against the man’s chest, arms wrapping around his back.

“Isaac’s upstairs- Dutch, Everyone-” A sigh. “Not here...”

Sebastian presses a kiss on the top of his head, then a chuckle when he’s done laying his face on top of his own:

“We could always keep quiet.”

“Not with this mud.”

“And you don’t fancy bathing in the bayou?”

“At the risk of alligator death? No.” Somehow man’s got him chuckling again. He’s feeling warm now and not in the aroused way; he’s still hard thou.

“Guess I just have to fuck you when no one’s watchin’-”

“Good luck with that.”

Arthur laughs, but before he has time to finish, Sebastian’s hand groped his half hard cock. Lips purse and he bucks his hips up; success came in the form of a barely abstained moan from the other. It’s then followed by a soft kiss on the neck from Arthur’s part. And now Sebastian’s laughing, a throaty, drunken laugher and he leans back in his arms. Arthur sways with him.

“Por favor, dame un beso.” Sebastian coos with a faint smile on his face.

“What?” He doesn’t understand; that ain’t English, was it.

“Un beso-” A kiss on Arthur’s lips. “Just a lil’ one-”

“What you tryina’ pull here?” Arthur’s still quite amused.

“Trying to teach you some Spanish.”

“Why?”

“So you’d know when I tell you besame.”

“What’s that mean-”

“_Kiss me-_”

And Arthur does, sucking the breath out of Sebastian, that an’ a moan. Why all the doubting from before when he’s pretty goddamn certain that he’s in love... It’s been so long- And he ain’t a good man, no matter how he felt-

“Christ...” he exhales when the kiss is broken. “Sebastian-”

“Arthur...”

He rubs the man’s cheeks with his thumbs, smiling like the fool he really was.

“_Te amo._” Sebastian whispers with such grace.

He wakes up with a headache; it takes a groan to set himself in motion- A blanket?

A hurried look to the side only to find Isaac curled next to them under a thin mat. A drawn out sigh as a hand goes to rest on the boy’s shoulder, offering gentle rubs now. Sebastian’s hardly awake himself, looking through half lidded eyes at the kid with one arm draped over Arthur’s chest. They slept in like that leaned on one of the porch’s posts, drunk again and with some wood to show what they’ve been thinkin’ last night, or it was probably the drink...

He’s been sighing a lot lately, so with the latest one he leans his head onto Sebastian’s.

“The boy really loves you.” Man says, voice gruff, glazed over by sleep and whiskey. “You’ve been a father many’d wish they had.”

A snort: “That ain’t true-”

“You love your son. More than anything.” Sebastian draws a finger across his chest. “I ain’t known any man to fight for their son like you do.”

“I’m coddling him...” Arthur scolds himself.

“Life ain’t of been kind to him if you weren’t.”

There goes one more deep exhale; finally admitting defeat: “Guess that much’s true. Wanted that for him. So he ain’t turning out like me.”

“He ain’t.” And he dips up for a kiss on the jaw before standing up and stretching his bones with a groan. Then a look at Arthur who ain’t yet got the courage to sit up: “And you need a bath.”

That and Sebastian’s gaze checks out the lil’ tent his pants put up with a smirk and for a moment he feared the man’ll put his boot on it. But Sebastian’s got at least that much decency. Instead he helps Arthur up.

By the time Isaac got up, Arthur got him some new clothes and to Miss Grimshaw’s surprise Arthur washed on his own volition, with a change of garments to boot. Sebastian went and fetches them some breakfast:

“Seems Pearson found_ alligator eggs_.”

“Get outta here-” Arthur chaffs then he’s presented with a plate of hard boiled alligator eggs and a yellow sauce that smells like mustard.

“Alligator eggs?” Isaac almost trips over his pants while pulling them up trying to peek at the exotic dish. “Ever had ‘em Pa?”

“No.” And that’s signal that he should dig in already.

“What’s it taste like?” Isaac wastes no time asking.

“Chewy.” He hasn’t swallowed yet. “Fishy. Kinda salty but I think that’s on Pearson’s part.” Isaac giggles. “Sauce is decent thou.”

And once he’s all dressed boy wastes no time chowing down on his own portion. While Arthur should go talk with Dutch. ‘course Isaac notices.

“Where you going?” kid takes a bite. “Talk with Dutch?”

He can’t lie... “Yes.”

“Can I sit by you? ...Promise I won’t talk.”

“Yes...”

Isaac perked up: “Really?”

“Don’t ask twice I might just change my mind. Now c’mon.”

Sebastian didn’t follow; there were flames on the pyre and Sebastian was smart enough not to walk into them. Thankfully Dutch looked to be in a pleasant mood - not the same could be said for Molly O’Shea. She looked miserable, slumped on a crate.

“Mornin’.”

“Good morning to you too, Arthur.”

Here it comes; he sits down and Isaac beside him: “I’m sorry for yesterday.”

“It _was_ very reckless of you.” Dutch’s tone was a note away from scolding.. “But I can’t not forgive you, Arthur.”

Arthur looked at him, trying to find the right words:

“You’re like a son to me.” Dutch continues. “All of us are family.”

He bobs his head: “It’s why I did it, Dutch.”

“I know...” Man sounded like he was just as sorry. “I just got scared.”

“I told you- What could I have done, Dutch?” he’s getting mildly frustrated.

“Distrust me. My judgement.”

“You ain’t lookin like ye’r trusting me very well right now.” Arthur’s real hoping his son either don’t catch what Dutch was saying or don’t stand up. A glance at him and sure enough he had his eyebrows knit

“Can I count on that trust?”

“Always, Dutch.”

Then silence.

“You know Hosea talked with the locals about them undead.” Arthur broke it at last.

“Yeah. He told me.”

“There’s something in the water that’s making it that way.”

Dutch turns to him:

“Would you and Hosea see about that? What’s causing it?”

“Sure.”

“Want to know who’s behind it.” Man rubs his hands with seeming anxiety. “There’s people out to extermin us. As if we’re vermin for not conforming to their uptight rules. Us and everyone who’s poor and unfortunate- Did you talk with the Indians?”

“Yes, saw them a couple of days ago. The father asked me to see his son near Citadel Rock.”

“Good. It might have something to do with that.”

“At this point who knows.”

“You’re right.”

Arthur gets up, urges Isaac to do the same, with permission and all he could go-

“I-...” Dutch utters, coaxing Arthur to turn his head back to him. “I’m sorry, for earlier.”

“Don’t mention it-”

“Are you taking the boy with you?”

“Yes...” Arthur scratches his beard.

“Take care there, Isaac, okay?” Dutch sounded much younger then, almost like someone he used to know a long time ago.

“Sure.” kid replies.

But first he makes sure he checks up on that Kieran kid. And he find him with Mary-Beth carefully tending to his wound.

Arthur leans on the pole keeping up the tent with a smirk. Isaac peeks behind his shoulder and snorts and with that both youngsters grow apart and a deep shade of red almost instantly:

“Ain’t meant to interrupt!” Arthur lifts his arms up. “Just came here to see how dear ol’ Kieran here’s doin’.” A chuckle.

“ I’m fine actually, thank you!” Yet he’s still rubbing his arm.

“Does it hurt?” Isaac asks making one more step forward.

“Not all that bad now.” Kieran darts is head to the side; Mary-Beth was looking down hiding her face behind curled locks. “Thanks to Mary-Beth.” Kieran lights up like fireworks. “B-but I won’t be here without you or your Pappy.”

Isaac’s beaming and Arthur can’t help smiling himself. Then he remembers:

“Weren’t you the one who said you wanted to go fishin’ sometime? For.. uh… that big Bluegill, ain’t it?”

“Oh! Yes!”

“Remind me when I get back and that arm o’ yours is stronger.”

“Sure- but where’re you going? After more O’Driscolls?”

“No. Not yet. Why?”

“ ‘cause there’s some things I wanna say.”

“Can’t you say them now?” Isaac intervenes.

But it’s Mary-Beth that talks next: “I said it’s best if things settle down a little. Dutch ain’t- well Dutch is...”

“I know.” Arthur says.

“I’ll tell you on that fishin’ trip. Promise.”

“Don’t forget.”

“No sir-” Kieran says that out of habit without paying mind that it wasn’t Arthur who said it, but his son. The father laughs.

“Get your strengths back soon, ‘kay?”

“Uh-huh.”

They should probably get goin’ already. He tells Isaac to fetch Sebastian and maybe some warmer clothes, while Arthur’s off to saddle the horses. But there’s something off. There by Pearson’s wagon, Micah’s talking. He listens in:

“Quite the woman.” He catches. “Quite the woman...” Arthur stops brushing Ghost. “You could make a feller real happy... bet you know how.” That’s it Arthur’s off, bagging the brush and that poor mare stretches her neck looking for pats.

“I got work to do now.” Abigail was pissed and after what happened with Jack this was a poor move of the bastard’s part.

But Arthur ain’t thought too far; Micah backs off hands in the air

“Oh, you’re a sneaky one, Morgan...” That inhale through teeth Micah did, tipping his chin up. “But I didn’t know I was your type.”

“Just back off, would you-” Arthur’s still larger than him.

“Woah there-” Somehow that cackle is uglier than he was: “Don’t wanna see you biting the pillows, cowpoke.”

Micah steps away like he’s facing off a wild beast and rest assured that comment sure made him bare his teeth:

“_You watch that goddamn mouth-_” Micah’s arms rose higher and there was fear at last in those cold eyes. “Lest you want a fist in it.”

“Easy, tough guy.” Man still laughs like he’s got the upper hand and the moment Arthur tears his gaze from him he notices Dutch looking over.

His lips purse as Micah backs even further away before spinning on his heels.

He didn’t even notice John coming by:

“You okay there, Arthur?”

“Don’t you pay him no mind.” Abigail reassures. “He’s all talk and no bite.”

He came there to help not to be helped.

“Sure, but you tell me if he ever gives u trouble again, Abigail.”

“What about you, thou?” John intervenes.

“I got fists and bullets.” Arthur grunts.

“He ain’t worth the trouble, Arthur.” Abigail encourages, the passes on to John: “And where’ve you been?”

Arthur’s already drawing away, back to his horses and saddles ‘cause Isaac’s down with the warmer clothes when John replies: “Been with Jack, playing something.”

“John Marston...” the surprise in Abigail’s tone is bringing him joy too. So the bastard _can _change.

“Did anything happen?” Isaac, bless his heart, noticed.

“No.” He ain’t gonna expose the boy to that idiot’s cruelty.

“Okay...” A hand rubs the kid’s back with rigour.

“So... Isaac said I can borrow one of your coats.” Sebastian said, packing that coat he called ‘the Grizzly’ ‘cause he made it out of one.

He entirely forgot about Micah; there’s a smile on his face: “I’d love to see you in it.”

Sebastian chuckles; Arthur knew _exactly_ what was on the man’s lips but he ain’t dare say it.

They should be reaching Citadel Rock by Nightfall if all went smoothly. And then the next morning, if all, again, went according to plan, they should be reaching the Grizzlies border near the Heartlands’ Overflow where their bounty was last seen.

Road sure is long enough, and most of it comes quiet. At one point a wild turkey cut their path and Isaac pulled out his bow and with one swift motion downed the bird from a gallop. He almost heard Sebastian gasp then. They hung the bird on Big Sir and went on. A storm caught up to them sometime in the afternoon near Dewberry Creek, good thing they packed the thicker coats ‘cause they sure as shit needed ‘em now. Isaac rode with his arms crossed and hunched over and Arthur got the rear to make sure Big Sir ain’t getting lazy all of a sudden.

The sunset barely shines through the breaking clouds and for the first time in weeks it smells of cold. Citadel Rock’s up ahead and they pass just by Cornwall Kerosene and Tar – rather unbelievable he’ll be robbing Cornwall of all people yet again. Here’s hopin’ this time it’s quiet.

And there’s Eagle Flies on the cliff with that gorgeous splash horse.

“You came.” Lad almost sounded surprised when the lot of ‘em pulled up.

“ ‘Course I came. Said I would.” Arthur dismounts already, Sebastian soon following suit.

And Eagle Flies wastes no time telling them what they gotta do: “There’s a foreman. His name is Danbury. He has the files in the office above the refinery room.” He hands Arthur the binoculars he was using: “It’s that window with the blind drawn up.”

“I see it.” He replies.

“If the files are as incriminating as we believe” Eagle Flies continues taking the binoculars back. “Cornwall’s men will destroy them if they know you’re coming.”

“There’s only one of us goin’ in so I don’t intend on lettin’ ‘em know I’m comin’, son.” Arthur spoke, then turned to Sebastian. “Can you get me outta trouble if it comes knockin’.”

“ ‘course...” man said.

“Isaac, you find a hidden spot and set up camp, far enough away but not too far.”

“Got it, Pa.”

Arthur returns to Eagle Flies who was looking at the boy galloping off already:

“What would the files say?”

“There’ll be a report from Leland Oil Development Company.”

A sigh: “Now any ideas about how I sneak into the place’ll be greatly appreciated.”

“You could crawl under the fence. Or hide in a wagon; they keep rolling in.”

“Wish me luck, Buck.” Arthur’s off without thinking too much about what he just said; there was a wagon ahead and he fully intended to sneak in that way.

He’s lucky enough that a train passes by and the wagon stops just in time for Arthur to crawl inside. It’s empty. And now here’s hopin’ they mistake him for cargo if one as much as looks in the back of it; he’s barely hiding. But he’s soon inside and with the night falling people get to yawning rather than watching out for shadows scurrying in the dark. He makes it pretty easily inside the building. And there people mill about absent-mindedly; it’s easy to sneak by, then upstairs. Maybe he’s got too much confidence opening the office door.

There was a man inside. A chair to the door, some intimidation tactics: raising fists and applying one for good measure to know he’s meaning business, and in the end he’s got the papers. But o’course someone heard it, came around asking what happened.

So Arthur snuck out the window. Where was that Sebastian he can’t tell but he saw him on that roof ‘cause the moment he’s out there’s a loud whistle and the bang of a pistol. Guards gather round and sure enough they give chase to what seemed to be one, no two outlaws drunk or stupid enough, or both, to rob oil coaches alone.

And ‘cause of that madman Arthur get to sneak out with no problems, but soon enough pulled round and shot off some of the pursuers that head out from the refinery.

No more of them and they seem safe enough away:

“Thought you wasn’t getting involved?!” Arthur’s probably sounding too much like a father and much less like a business partner.

“I decided to help.” Eagle Flies comments, eyebrows furrowed. “Because he refused the money.”

So Eagle Flies tried to pay their services to Sebastian. Goddamn reckless fools, both o’em, but at least he’s expecting the ol’ Buck to be that way.

“Thank you.” Arthur says. “You saved my life.” He takes out the papers and gives it to the lad; he looks them over as if it’s a loaf of bread when he hasn’t eaten in days: too little, but still better than nothing.

“I hope...” Eagle Flies spoke. “Well, I don’t know what I hope... but who knows, maybe these will be of some use.” Then he turns fully to face the two of ‘em. “Thank you, Sebastian, Arthur...” He got in the saddle. “I hope we can see each other again on friendlier terms...”

Off he went.

“What you charmed the kid with?” Arthur chaffs.

“Nothing. I’m not the talkative type.”

“Su~re.” Arthur draws the word out and Sebastian paints a smile, closing his eyes. “You’re about the second most talkative bastard I know.”

“Second to who?”

“Dutch o’course.” Arthur laughs, and Sebastian soon follows suit.

“Now I ain’t knowing if I should take that as a compliment or not.”

“Well, I _like you_, Sebastian.” He draws closer; there’s still commotion downhill at the refinery. “I like you terribly much.”

They should be heading away, finding Isaac, but Arthur dares brush a hand over Sebastian’s chest, just ‘cause he loved him and for a moment he had the man all to himself. And Sebastian blinked at the touch almost in surprise before an arm reached to bring him back again. There’s people wailing in the valley; horse hooves somewhere, and he ain’t caring in the least. Breath’s caught in chest and that urge that came over him when Sebastian’s looking at him like that sweeps him again; and in turn Arthur swoops the man in his arms for a kiss. And Sebastian eats his mouth out, hungry, fingers soon gripped in his hair, making it a mess.

Kiss breaks: “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

Sebastian drags him behind himself not a moment later, deciding to throw Arthur in the nearest bushes. Branches scratch his cheeks but he ain’t caring, not when mouth’s on mouth again and that whole man above him. His hands are already working at Arthur’s vest, then shirt, then his head dips down and it had Arthur gasping. Sebastian’s lips trail kisses down from his collarbone to his nipple. Clothes are tugged to the side and one arm arches Arthur’s back, pushing him against Sebastian. His fists clench in the man’s clothes as his lips and tongue make a mess on his chest, lapping, sucking, with the occasional gentle bite. He’s going hard and hot and restless. Arthur’s hands work on undoing his suspenders and pants.

“Christ-”

It’s quick work from there: pants thrown off, Sebastian’s as well, erections spring free, then fingers in his mouth to be pushed wet inside Arthur. Lips purse and eyes squeeze shut. It’s unpleasant at first, but Sebastian’s all gentle. A wet kiss on his mouth, tongue slipping by inside, makes him forget to clench his ass. Fingers’re slick, in and out, scissoring from time to time, turning stings to itching and pressure’s building up inside his navel. Hands don’t sit still; Arthur runs them underneath the man’s shirt, popping buttons as they went, now rubbing thumbs on stiffening nipples. If their mouths ain’t been locked to each other the pants and gasps’ll just roll out. He ain’t letting them, keeps them for himself, frustrated and rushed as they were. They ain’t saints, and they’re gonna indulge this sin much further when Sebastian takes those fingers out, props his ass up on his knees and slowly slips inside him-

“_Arthur~_” That names slips from those lips again, so goddamn deliberate and so goddamn erotic; hips buck and he regrets it, but Sebastian moans biting his lip and maybe it’s all worth it.

One hand sneaks up Arthur’s navel, ruffling short body hair the other direction, and now once touching his erection. Arthur can’t but exhale through barely parted lips as all this builds heat inside him that he ain’t meant to withstand. Sebastian’s slow, pleasantly, agonizingly slow.

He wants to talk-

“U-agh--” In and out the thrusts pick up: “I hope you know the mess you makin’ o’me. Ahh-”

Sebastian drives that hand to his jaw, and then the other one too to cup his face; rhythm doesn’t slow down and Arthur ends up rolling his head inside the other’s palm.

“If only you knew what you o’me, Arthur-” Forehead’s pressed to forehead as they’re there bucking off. “_Arthur--_”

It builds and builds this strain between his legs, it twitches and throbs:

“Keep callin’ me that-” Arthur pants out.

“_Arthur!_”

“Augh-_Jesus-_” Hands grab at Sebastian’s ass, his hair, pull him close and up, inside. “Keep at it, Seba-astian- _Christ!- Keep at it!_” ‘cause that’s the spot that’s sweet, right there, right goddamn there.

Legs are wide and ass is high, pounded with some form of cruel mercy. Waves run up him hot, then cool. The night air prickles. And he’s kissing him; kissing Sebastian where he can reach: the neck, the ear, the jaw, the lips, sloppy and wet, leaving trails behind. And Sebastian’s moaning in his mouth, his ear. It’s him; it’s him, for him, with him. How’s he so goddamn enamored. Thrust by thrust he gets a lil louder a lil’ more shameless. There’s hooves nearby; they draw closer than away- Sebastian stops for barely a moment, covering Arthur’s mouth and his own. And that man’s cock inside him pulsating, struck right against the spot that’s sweet and he’s begging that be moved-

He’ll regret that in the morning. He finds his footing and with dexterity he ain’t thought he had, nestles Sebastian to him as he gets up, then laying the man down with a thud. It hurt moving like that, his teeth are clenched and there’s a groan, but that goddamn cock’s still too good and there Arthur moves: up and forward then back again. Slow at first then fast ‘cause he can’t take it. Both his hands rest on Sebastian’s chest now, snuck under the shirt’s fabric where fingers brush against the nipples, as thrusts pick up in speed. And it’s relentless.

Sebastian has to turn his head to the side to let those sweet moans out and what a sight that was; and always will be: to have him at his mercy and be at his instead, ‘cause it ain’t like he’s not there as lustful.

“Arthur—Agh-a-” Faster, harsher, so he says his name out loud like no one ever did. “AGh-Arh-”

That was one fine goddamn dandy. So fine. Arthur’s propped in just one hand, huffing, biting his own lip, so with the other he can run his fingers through that man’s sideburns. And he should be saying something, but he can’t speak now; he just keeps working himself until the knot’s unbearable.

Sebastian catches his thumb into his mouth, and the way the lips and tongue moved to draw him in’s suggestive enough to have him buckle forward under the pressure of the orgasm. He stands still, Sebastian doesn’t: catches his hips and keeps on going-

“_AUGH_\- Ugh- Seba-a-Christ!”

It’s just a few more rough thrusts before he’s done. Sebastian vibrates under him, moans long, drawn out, in hiccups. There’s cum in his ass and he sits right up to get it out. The shirt’s goddamn ruined. He wipes the stains off with one hand.

“What a goddamn mess-” Arthur pants; there’s a smile there and Sebastian looks at him from where he was flat on the ground with leaves in his messy hair and returns the gesture:

“Uh-huh...”

Arthur stretches up: “_Shit!_” It hurt. Sebastian cackles beneath him: “What?”

“Think of me.” That goddamn grin on the man’s face.

He scoffs: “Always, buck.” Nonchalantly, like it’s always been there.

The faintest gasp; Sebastian props himself on his elbows, lost in thought.

Arthur’s at last tying up his suspenders: “We should get going-”

The man pulls at his legs, shoves Arthur on his knees and on top of him. It ain’t gentle:

“The hell-” Sebastian found his neck to kiss it, warm hand wrapping around his back to hold him there.

“Just a lil’ while longer, Arthur.” Obliged; Arthur lays his head down, finding a way to rest it on his chest, as Sebastian draws lines over his shoulders. “Significas mucho para mí... Arthur. Buck...” the last one sounds like he’s tasting the word.

“You gonna tell me what that means in English?”

“You mean so much to me.” Sebastian combs Arthur’s hair with such grace. “It’s been...”

“So long?... Yeah... Me too.” A kiss to his forehead. “But we gotta get back to Isaac. We left him alone-”

Up they go; Sebastian lifting both of them up before he can finish his sentence.

Dust and fluids get smudged off, clothes buttoned back together before they get back up and set out. Arthur’s whistling and when the whistle returns they know it’s Isaac.

It’s a small fire the boy’s built.

“I burned the turkey a bit.” Isaac says before looking up at them both, then his eyes squint: “You fucked?...” No answer, kid turns his head away, shifts on the spot, then looks back at a loss of words, lips puckered and eyes wide.

The silence is awkward as they sit down; Arthur takes a bit of cooked meat and chews it on. Isaac shortly clears his throats and reaches for the coffee mug:

“I found some berries. We didn’t have any more mushrooms or other herbs.”

“And this’s got mint on it.” Arthur notes.

“Yeah... You like it?” Isaac picks up a more joyous face.

“Quite delicious actually!” Boy smiles wide. “Here. Can you hand me some berries?”

Sebastian’s still frozen in the knowledge that the boy asked him if they bucked it off behind some bushes; Arthur bumps him with his shoulder:

“Eat up, please.”

As if snapped out of some trance, the man does.

But there ain’t no nice dinner and sweet rest that could’ave prepared them for finding that bounty in a camp that starts shooting right at ‘em. Sure they went after Wofford but this time there ain’t no place to hide.

Isaac’s a decent shot, even in the open like this, but he’s still fearing for the boy’s life. And bullets fly past their target ‘cause he keeps darting back to a panicked Big Sir, galloping with his son in the saddle trying to aim. Sebastian says nothing; he’s effective. Finally, somehow, shots start landing where they need to; it much resembles how he used to be shooting: a few scattered bullets to the chest area until the body don’t flinch no more.

But in that frenzy he almost forgot the bounty’s meant to be alive-

“_Pa! He’s escaping!_”

Ghost’s a fast horse; he spurs her round and to a gallop, picking up his lasso as he goes. She’s huffing under him but the bounty’s lil’ horse can’t keep up.

Feller falls from his mount with a shout. Arthur pulls the reins while lassoing the man in.

“A’right! You got me!” Arthur dismounts and hogties him good. “I’ll come with you, you son of’a bitch.”

Something snaps inside thinking that this person before him’s gonna end up some scientist’s Guinea pig, but the bastard’s not done talking:

“You’re your own jail keeper, mister. In a prison of your own making.”

“Shut up!” A hard punch to the man’s face and the body slumps. He ain’t dead, just knocked out, but Arthur ain’t in the mood for a philosophy lesson from some goddamn outlaw he’s taking in to be judged.

He damn well knows he ain’t righteous, no need for anyone else to tell him that.

He picks the man up and whistles for the others. Ghost, the sweet darlin’, comes as well and he stows the bounty on her back this time. Isaac comes in view just as he got back in the saddle:

“You okay, kid?”

“Yeah.” He’s huffing from effort. “Sir Lancelot’s a lot to handle when spooked.”

Arthur purses his lips and sighs: “I’m sorry.”

Boy scratches his neck, twists his lips: “Wha-? But you ain’t done nothin’.”

That was the point... He worried too much and got ineffective and-

“Ah, don’t mind me, I’m just an ol’ geezer.”

“You did well, Arthur.” Sebastian chimes in.

A bob of the head: “Then let’s get the bastard back before he wakes up an’ starts talkin’.”

The road ahead seems interminable. And indeed the bounty woke up, but they gagged him so he’d shut his mouth. The groaning and choking got annoying after a while. About midday they take a break, for the horses and themselves to eat something. A storm was to roll in again. It got cold, frighteningly cold real fast, the smell of rain almost overbearing. It’s electric.

But the downpour don’t come until they pass the Kamasa River and enter marshland. Arthur checks the address on the little card Victoriano gave him; asks Sebastian if he knows where it is. Sure enough, man leads them straight there.

They’re all wet to the bone and the poor feller up on Ghost’s hide stopped struggling, but fear was written all over his face. He writhes as he’s taken down, but only for a moment.

Sebastian knocks on the door and sure enough mister Victoriano opens, who looks at the man before him, then Arthur with the bounty:

“Ah, excellent! You brought him. And in such a short time. Very good.” The professor exists the house, trying up his white coat to shield from the rain and comes to point him where to ‘deposit’ the bounty: “Bring him here, please.”

“He was a pain to deal with-”Arthur heaves flinging the body on a chair in the shed he was shown by the side of the house.

Mister Victoriano then darts back inside the house: “Wait here. For payment.”

Arthur joins Sebastian by the doorframe not a moment later.

He sees the woman: ghostly pale skin, icy blue eyes and hair of such a shade of blond that it almost looked white as well. She stares at them and then gets closer; and Sebastian’s staring back:

“Myra...” man gasps out.

That was his former wife wasn’t she...


	13. Debts to be Paid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian meets his former wife while the gang prepares to hit the Saint Denis bank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9 k... also I'm sorry Hosea :(

“Sebastian...” Myra exhales, and it feels like the world’s above to topple over his head.

It’s been so long since he saw her...

“You look well.” Her hair grew longer; it was combed in a braid and looped around at the back of the head. He had so many questions: “Is he...”

“Ruben!” she calls out and steps just a little back, then she looks at him ice cold: “Could ask the same of you, Sebastian.”

Isaac soon made his entrance, drawing near his father’s side and Myra shot the boy an even harsher glance:

“Ruben!” she calls out again. Footsteps: “Sebastian, I don’t want you here.”

But he gotta try; it’s been so long: “Lily... How’s Lily?” he misses her. He misses her so terribly much.

And it comes flooding back, but he doesn’t have time to reminisce-

“She’s gone-”

Sky fell with the roll of thunder above: “What do you mean gone? Myra-” Ruben returned with a wad of cash in his hands. “Myra, where’s our daughter!?-” Arthur drew nearer, hands outstretched.

“Our daughter is of no concern to you.”

And now he’s held back: “She’s my daughter! You son o’a bitch- WHERE IS SHE!?!”

Myra retreated back into the house while her new husband pulled out his pistol. Arthur held him firm, pulling him back. Sebastian huffs in the restrain, rain down-pouring from stray lock of hair.

“You look like a sensible man, bounty hunter.” Ruben talks, monotone, calm. The bullet runs in the socket when the gun’s cocked.

“I do try my best...” Arthur speaks.

Sebastian breaks free from the man’s hold and scoots off in the other direction, getting right back on Ashley. Isaac follows and Arthur’s last. But there ain’t no road ahead in his fury, in his grief. He lets the horse do as he pleases and he bolts. Judgment’s as clouded as his vision-

“Watch it!” Ashley neighs; he pulls the reins and that person still stumbles to the ground.

“Excuse me, mister.”

Sebastian gets down from saddle, stretches a hand to help but the feller swats it off. Last straw. He can’t handle it. He picks out a cigarette, lights it, plops it in his mouth and drags long and hard until he feels like coughing from all the smoke in his lungs. It’s still pouring and all he can do, all he has left to do is to miserably slide down the side of a building puffing tobacco. His hands tremble, his lips too.

“Sebastian-” Arthur rushes to him, leaving his mare damn near the middle of the goddamn road. Isaac’s just behind him.

And it’s the boy that lunges into his arms, fully aware of it all. Cigarette’s dropped on impact and his arms wrap fully around Isaac, squeezing him tight to his chest. And he lets loose. Head bends into the boy’s clothes and the sobs are violent. Arthur’s hand is on his back, rubbing gently.

“She’s gone-” he heaves... “She’s gone-” He’s trembling whole. “I thought-” The cigarette was still smoking on the ground, half wet; he picks it up and tries to draw in another inhale. “I thought at least she was alive-” Smoke rolls out into the rain just as frantic as he was.

Arthur sat down at last, one arm wrapped around his shoulders and Sebastian leans in. Isaac’s still clinging to him:

“You got us.”

“We got you.” Arthur reiterates, as if they were some family, but that’s no consolation right now. Not when his daughter was...

He can hardly stifle the sobs, bends his head backwards to breathe through his mouth.

“That day...” Sebastian starts, gaze lost somewhere, barely registering the way raindrops fell from the shingles. “That day that they found out I was... who I was, and threw me out into the streets.” Another draw from the half wet cigarette; it’s barely smoking at this point, hard to breathe the tobacco in. “Lily ran after me as they dragged me off. She didn’t run away. She would have clawed her way to me... They slapped her, dragged her to her mother. And I watched...” He runs a hand through his soaking wet hair. “They beat me.” Isaac squeezed Sebastian tighter then. “They beat me a step away from death. And I didn’t know what they did to her... But I wasn’t-” A sharp inhale as he holds back another bout of tears. “I couldn’t save her... My little girl...”

Arthur nestles him against himself; his forehead to Sebastian’s temple. And for a while they laid there silently.

Until a man stopped to look at them: brown robes, a shaved head.

Brother Dorkins approaches them carefully before bending down:

“My friends, do you need any help?”

He pulls away from the embrace, it’s stinging in his chest. No more. Does he have to beg for it? Isaac’s looking back, still clinging to his clothes.

“We’re fine, Brother.” Arthur says.

“Out in the rain like this? Let me at least offer you shelter.”

And Arthur looks at him.

“A warm meal.” Brother Dorkins continues.

“Thank you...” Arthur says but doesn’t move a muscle. He seemed so unconcerned with the predicament they were in. He ain’t pulling away, ain’t trying to deny. Sebastian’s clenching inside; today’s looking a lot like the day he lost everything, and not even his cigarette’s smoking. It hurts. It’s been 5 years and that’s all he’s ended up becoming, and still the judgment hurts. And when one thought ain’t selfish he realizes that Isaac being here like he was damns him too.

He shuffles the boy slowly away when getting up:

“Can we trust you, Brother?” A step forward. “Can we trust you ain’t gonna turn us in to the police or some freak house.” He’s more sad than angry.

And Brother Dorkin’s looking kind down at them: “How can I? You are a good man; you saved those people from slavery and offered them assurance. I heard they made it safely back to Mexico.”

Sebastian almost forgot about them; he nods, letting wet hair fall in his face. Arthur was up just behind him.

“Please come.” Brother extended a hand out; there still ain’t enough trust between them.

“We said we was fine.” Arthur intervenes.

The man’s arm hangs down: “You seemed like you needed help and I would be glad to return some.”

The man knew damn well what was going on and was proposing them refuge and still he can’t quite believe that. Who would be honest; who would be good to someone that ain’t. Neither him, nor Arthur are decent folk, least of all by the laws of that Holy Bible of theirs. It’s cruel. Sebastian huffs; right now he keeps fucking forgetting Isaac is there, like the ain’t tethered to that boy...

He liked, no, loved the kid. Boy gave him a second chance at parenthood, and in his selfishness he forgot about him... ‘cause his queer misery had to come first.

“I’m afraid I’m pretty fucking lost-”

He knows Arthur’s looking at him concerned.

But they ended up going to that church – Sebastian first, Arthur and Isaac in tow. He knew it; it was modeled after one in France he heard. But never went inside, always bowed his head and walked past. Now, however, under its roof, it felt oddly quiet and calming, as if air stood still. There’s incense; it smelled pleasant. Isaac stuck to his father like glue and he’s thinking none o’em ever been in a church before. There’s only a few other people there, sitting in silence.

There was a nun lighting candles in what he believes to be the altar, right underneath the Icons. She turns to look at them once the doors click closed.

“Can you help me with some blankets, Sister?” the monk said.

The woman looked them up and down, then rushed behind the altar, soon to offer them some. Arthur wrapped it around Isaac first and the boy soon rested on a bench in the first row, his gaze darting all over, silently admiring the architecture and paintings. Then when Arthur sat down, boy scuttled over, laying his head on his father’s shoulders.

Sebastian stood.

“Take a seat, mister. Please.” Sister said.

But he was still feeling like this wasn’t a place for him – and still he got to know Arthur inside a crumbled church.

“I’m a sinner, Sister.” He said as he finally sat down.

And she laughed, bent in a little and whispered: “But we all are.” And then she gave a cheeky smile.

He just shook his head and Arthur lays a hand on his back, a faint rub between shoulder-blades. Man ain’t looking entirely convinced they should be here in the first place, his eyebrows drawn together in what felt like the first time he’s ever seen him this focused. Sebastian puffs out air and closes his eyes. It’s hard... ‘cause he’d lean in if his body won’t grow cold with a shiver at the thought of loving another man in front of God. And still, somehow, it felt like Arthur had more courage than him.

There’s a faint choir in the background now; people rehearsing their lines upstairs. And Sister returns with three bowls for soup and bread.

“You’re looking pretty worn down, good sirs.”

None of them touch the soup yet, but now that it was given to them Arthur urges the boy to dig in, while picking up the conversation:

“We’re just lookin’ for a bit o’ shelter till the rain passes over.”

“Yes, it’s quite the storm we caught ourselves into.” The nun says. “Soaked the boy to the bone i see.”

Arthur stiffened and Isaac picked up his head:

“I’m a’right.” Said the boy.

“And you’re always welcome here.” Sister said.

Sebastian turned his head and pursed his lips; Arthur bowed his head as well.

“Oh, don’t worry.” She continued. “I’ve known this neighborhood for a long while. I know what that necklace means.” Arthur covers it with a flash of a snarl. “This is a place of love.”

Was it? With all the people- Sebastian grunts.

“Ain’t God who said sodomy is sin?” Arthur asks after a while.

“Well he did. ...Maybe. But I believe love is not sodomy.”

Arthur bobs his head, bares his teeth, this time it more resembles a smile: “I’ll think about that...”

“Would you mind if I leave you to it then?”

“Not at all, Sister...”

“Name’s Sister Calderon.” She smiles again and returns to her chores-

Gunshots. Police whistles.

Arthur shoots right up, Isaac looked at him mortified. Sebastian’s slow to catch on but when the man walks briskly towards the door onto to sprint the next moment he’s out, he understands. He dashes afterwards.

It’s chaos. Lawmen everywhere. And it’s madness that spurs the into action; ‘cause Arthur wasted no time galloping after the trolley they were shooting at; sure enough, Dutch was inside:

“Arthur! Isaac!? What are you doing here!?”

“Trying to save ye’r ass, ain’t that clear?!” He was angry; and anger made him deadly.

Lawmen fall under their rain of bullets. Arthur asked him to flank the left side of the trolley while Isaac remained by his father’s side. And he hears Micah gagging on his own laughter from inside.

“Will you shut up!” Arthur said followed by the boom of the repeater. “Bet this was your goddamn doing.”

“Lay it off, Morgan-”

“QUIET!” Dutch shouts. “We got other things to worry about just now!”

“Well maybe we ain’t got lawmen to worry ‘bout if Micah ain’t been here-”

The man cackled: “You think about that cock you got stuck up your ass-”

And Sebastian would have turned right then, loaded and shot that greasy excuse of a human in the mug.

“Micah, slow us down!” Dutch commanded over the chaos, and truth be told it’s only now he noticed the trolley picked up significant speed. “Slow this thing down!”

Micah moved with the characteristic ruckle, pulling harshly on the lever. The three of them were falling behind. Ashley neighs panicked; there’s still bullets flying past them. He tries to calm the stallion with words, aiming for the next shot.

“Thing’s broke!” Micah shouts.

Even from this distance the way Arthur clenched his teeth was audible.

“Isaac, scoot!” Father calls out to his son; the boy doesn’t waver-

The sound of the crash is infernal. A whole wagon got destroyed on impact; driver flew on the ground, horses ran loose. And the three of ‘em are watching as if the whistles of the police ain’t right behind them. It takes Ashley spooking again for Sebastian to resume shooting. But Arthur rode sharp to the overturned trolley:

“Dutch!”

A rushed look back at them; Dutch crawls out of the wreckage. Another shot; Isaac’s backing him up.

“Get on the horse. All o’you.” Arthur urges. “Micah you ride with me.” And this one is more of a growl.

That kid, Lenny, hops on the back of his stallion and Dutch on Big Sir. The frenzy keeps on going; horses are spurred to a gallop.

“You ride, we shoot!” Lenny says, reloading his revolver.

“Glad we’re still friends, Morgan.” Micah cackles on the back of Ghost, unloading his pistols in the Lawmen still behind them.

“You know what they say about keeping your friends close-” Arthur bellows, before pulling out the repeater and shooting the Law that congregated before them: “Ahead!”

Sebastian takes a sharp turn: “After me!” Father and son turn to follow: “Heading for the bridge.”

Lawmen are still dying: ahead and behind them. Their horses pull in a panic. Aiming comes harder and harder the longer they race.

“SHIT!” He almost pulls on the reins; the bridge is blocked by no less than 5 mounted lawmen.

“Use this!” He heard Dutch from behind; he handed Isaac some lit dynamite. Boy throws it.

Arthur reloads his repeater- Flames combust, the air carrying over the heat to their faces. Horses bend their necks to shield themselves from it, but they pass through. The bridge cleared, the corpses laying down half burned.

“You see anymore?” Lenny asks almost quietly.

“Just keep going!” Dutch beckons.

The ride back is quiet and tense; Arthur’s huffing in anger so loudly it’s on par with that of their mounts.

He stops right before Shady Belle, dismounting.

“What the hell happened back there!?” Arthur was livid. “Dutch?”

And the man didn’t reply. Instead, Micah jumped down from Ghost; and part of Sebastian hoped that mare will hitch a hoof in the bastard’s side.

“What you think we did?” Micah heaved. “We’ve been making money, Morgan, something you seem unable to do as of late.”

“And how much you’ve got?” Arthur continues, approaching Dutch, who barely climbed down from Big Sir.

“We each got... 15 dollars. And probably a quarter.”

Micah’s face slopped.

“It was a set-up, Dutch.” Arthur’s voice mellowed out at this point, more concerned than angry. “What you thought was gonna happen when Valentini, who gave you the tip, ended up dead at the party?”

“He set us up.” Dutch nods. “Played me like a yokel, from the grave.”

Sebastian’s rather surprised the man had the decency to admit on his mistake; he felt like he had enough pride to do the opposite.

“And I ain’t even been the one to kill him.” Dutch then looks at Sebastian, gaze dark under heavy brows.

“It would have happened either way.” Sebastian says, dismounting at last. “Maybe alive he would have been more-”

“You set the law on us.” Dutch argued.

“He did no such thing.” Arthur’s tone became harsh again and he made a step between Dutch and Sebastian. “He was held captive for days, you know he was, Dutch.” They stare at each other for a moment: “Would you’ave told me the same thing had Colm come lookin’ after I escaped?”

“Arthur- Son, you doubting my care- my love for you? Arthur?”

Arthur turns away and paces off: “Yeah... And what ‘bout the others, Dutch? We was supposed to be helpin’ folk, not puttin’ ‘em in graves!”

“I say we cut ‘em loose, Dutch.” Micah intervenes.

Dutch’s eyebrows knit together.

“They’re only slowing us down. So many mouths to feed that don’t even put any penny in. There ain’t ever gonna be enough money to get ‘em all out-”

“Then you’ave broken the only promise you made these people.” Arthur stood his ground.

Dutch throws one last glance at them, the three of them: Arthur, Sebastian and Isaac, especially Isaac; says nothing more and walks away.

“Dutch?” Micah hisses at the man, then whips his head at all those left, growls: “Ye’r bootlicking ain’t always gonna work.”

“Look who’s talkin’.” Arthur responds as the man walked away, and the moment he did, Arthur let out a deep sigh and rushes to his son: “Isaac, you okay? You ain’t got hurt, did you?”

“It’s fine, Pa. I’m all good.” And still the boy tugs at his father’s hand to hold his own.

“Now that was one big mess...” Lenny, who all of them seemed to have forgotten was there, spoke.

Arthur strides to him, searching his satchel and Sebastian knew what followed.: “Kid, you gotta get yourself out.” He’s handed money. 100$ by the looks of it.

“What?...” Lenny looked confused.

Sebastian intervened: “This thing ain’t gonna last much longer, you saw what just happened.”

“With all due respect sir, you ain’t been an outlaw. It’s all I know.”

“You’ll find something else. Ye’r still young.” Arthur cuts in.

“World out there ain’t for the likes of me. Arthur, I’m a negro. It ain’t that easy.”

But something clicked in his head, maybe spurred by that Sister Calderon and that one small kindness, ‘cause in all that frenzy he ain’t got the time to think about it all: “Maybe.” Sebastian puts a hand on Lenny’s shoulder: “I know a doctor, travels with a caravan, his name is Renaud. He’s a negro so I don’t doubt he’ll give you an apprenticeship if you ask.”

Lenny falls quiet and blinks: “Where’d you know this guy?”

“He’d stop in Rhodes every so often – you see that town ain’t got no fucking doctor, so he was a lil’ blessing.”

“Weren’t you a... what were they called, up in Saint Denis?...”

Too close, but Sebastian can’t blame him: “For the past five years, yes, but before I was a Sheriff in Rhodes. Until they found out.”

Lenny nods, a smile on his face: “From Sheriff to Outlaw; who would’ave thought.” Sebastian returns the gesture with a flap of his arms. “And you think there’s a way back up there?”

“Worth the shot. I’ll go find him and talk to him, ‘kay, kid.”

“Well damn. I. Thank you, Sebastian.”

“Go get some rest, Lenny!” Arthur chimes in. “You earned it.”

“For 15 dollars? Yeah. Sure did.”

“Don’t mention it.” Arthur shakes his head and seems to remember that they’re soaked to the bone: “And maybe we should be gettin’ a change of clothes.”

A nod. With that shooting he almost forgot that he met Myra today, and once that thought returns he stands still, breath cut. But that tender hand that’s placed on his back coaxes him gently forward; Arthur ain’t letting him behind. And there’s a pang inside his chest now and steps come more determined. The rain stopped. And it’s faint, in the distance, as they get inside the house:

“I’m losing them, Hosea...” from a Dutch crumpled over himself, head resting in his palms, next to Hosea.

Arthur’s hand guides him forward still: they should allow the men the same privacy they’ve been wishing on themselves. Upstairs, man wastes no time throwing his clothes off, the boy’s next.

Arthur’s bare-chested looking for something for his son: he hands him a shirt and trousers.

“Don’t peek!” Isaac teases, turning away and into a corner, undressing.

Arthur’s still rummaging through his chest: “And now some clothes for you.”

“It’s fine-” Sebastian’s handed a stripped white shirt, then a pair of jeans and a coat.

“Here, hope they fit you.”

Heart slumps further into his chest; he should have lost it all, ‘cause that’s how it felt: painful, acidic and hollow between his ribs and into his gut. And Arthur’s there... He sits down on the edge of the bed, half undressed. Father and son both look at him as if already knowing what was up; he’s only known them for a month, a month and some weeks tops. Isaac rushes to his side, flings himself on the bed:

“Everythin’ okay, Pops?”

He can’t help the snort; that boy was smart beyond his years:

“Lily used to call me Daddy-” tears roll down involuntarily. Isaac snugs up to him and he can’t help holding the boy to his chest. He’s gonna get those fresh clothes wet again.

Arthur approaches carefully and sits down beside them. There’s a sob right there. Isaac hugs him tighter. Sebastian pats the boy’s back:

“You got us... Just like you got me, remember when-” Sebastian kisses the top of Isaac’s head as he spoke, eyes shut tight, tears spilt.

Arthur started rubbing his back and he ends up leaning into the touch. Guess, in the end, they were all just a bit desperate for some family.

“I got you...” Sebastian repeats, hoping this time he’ll actually believe it.

“Ye’r our good ol’ stubborn buck.” Arthur chimes in. He still didn’t change in new clothes, remained with his massive chest uncovered.

And he leans further in, the three of them remaining like that for a while; it’s still hollow, but not nearly as bitter. He can’t believe it, not yet, ‘cause it ain’t like he deserved any of this. There’s been other men, some women too, but he ain’t been a prostitute for love, least of all for family. ‘cause he fucked that up anyway. Myra… he felt like the luckiest man to have been able to meet a woman such as her, especially in a little town that down South, among the Grays and Braithwaites. He loved her his own way, but he did. But in the end that did not matter. Sebastian wasn’t and will never be more than that man who fucks men. Duty was ripped from him, fatherhood was ripped from him, love, home, himself.

And even now he left all his clothes back at the molly-house...

“Maybe we should be getting some sleep...” Sebastian tries, brushing away some rogue strands from Isaac’s face, sniffing in a sob of his own. “It’s been a rough day...”

“You get yourself dressed first, Seb.” Boy says. “Else you catch a cold.”

Arthur chuckles, as if he ain’t naked himself:

“Now we ain’t lettin’ that happen.” And he presses his face close to Sebastian’s, breath’s fawning down on his jaw. “Gonna keep this mister all warm.”

It’s something seeing Arthur affectionate when they’re all alone, and quite another seeing him like this now, with his son right there. ‘course the boy takes note:

“Ain’t saw Pa tender like that with anyone.”

“Ain’t been tender...” Arthur admits almost with regret – that man loves his son, keeps at nothing telling him the truth.

“Ain’t been tender either.” Sebastian answers as well.

“But you’re now.” Isaac continues. “And Pa’s happy-”

“Com’ere, kid.” Boy shifts and climbs next to his father: “Always been happy.” He ruffles Isaac’s hair. “ ‘cause you been here.”

“Ye’r even happier now. Can tell that. Seb’s too. Gotta give him some hope.” Isaac looks at them both as if he’s the concerned parent between the two of ‘em. “I’m no kid no longer, gotta be somethin’ I can do to help. For all them years Pa’s raised me. Ain’t been easy, know it ain’t-”

“Isaac-” Arthur clutches him further.

“But I wanna know you ain’t doin’ it all alone.” Boy continued fierce.

“He ain’t alone...” he dares cut in.

“And you ain’t either, Seb.”

Seems they’re all on the brink of tears, but he smiles: “You’re one real special kid.”

“Was just taught well-”

“Nah.”Arthur cuts in. “That’s all you.”

Isaac pouts: “You never win do you?”

A scoff: “That’s what fathers’re for!”

Now it’s a frown, a shove: “Shut up!” Arthur laughs, and he finds himself chuckling as well.

Then a loud growl of guts:

“Uh-oh, mister. Go get yourself somethin’ to eat.”

Isaac springs up almost offended, exists and runs downstairs.

“Ain’t you hungry too?” Arthur asks only a while later.

He shakes his head: “Gimme a smoke and a kiss and I’ll be fine-”

The fumble of fabric and a box of cigarettes' flipped open at his disposal. He takes one out; lights it.

“You ain’t got a lucky one.” He comments before a long drag.

He ain’t got time to exhale it; Arthur’s mouth is on his own, palms cupping his face. Ask and ye’ shall receive was that saying...

With one hand he pushes Arthur’s chin up, smoke escapes from lips. Still holding him by the throat Sebastian mounts onto his lap, pushing the man ever slightly towards the wall. Cig is still between the fingers of his other hand. The spark in Arthur’s eyes: unbearable. Another drag in before his nerves give out again and he loses the courage he got doing this. He dips down for another kiss, hands roam for barely a moment; they’re still half naked-

He lays down more or less climbed over the other; puffs a smoke in and out again before speaking:

“Thank you...”

Arthur steals his cig for a moment; with how hard they’ve been smoking it it’s already almost wasted.

“Ain’t would’ave been here without you.” Head leans on top of his own and it lasts a while. “We should get dressed...”

“Yeah.” Before the boy gets back.

The peeks are to be expected; dimly lit and half clothed is all they’ve got for a look of each other. And Arthur is large: wide shoulders with muscles that run deep, chest just as wide, short brown hair covering the length of him, the occasional blemish and plenty scars. By comparison Sebastian ain’t much to look at: ribs are noticeable by this point and it felt like meat hung off o’him.

“You should be eating more.” Arthur comments, fitting his shirt: a blue, stripped one that’s looking like it’s been worn since Isaac was a child.

“And smoking less...” Sebastian chaffs; Arthur’s clothes are loose on him – the shirt at least. “Gonna end up with one hell of cough if I catch the age of 50.”

“You gonna be an ol’ man, Sebastian. Just look at Uncle. He’s thrivin’!”

A hum: “Didn’t get to meet _him_ up close.’

“But I bet you smelled him.” Arthur hangs the coat in the corner.

“Hmm, thought that rancid smell was just Micah.”

And the man laughs loudly: “Well you ain’t wrong ‘bout that.”

Okay, he’s proud of that one. It’s slowly bringing him some sense of calm. And:

“You’re looking good.”

Arthur spins around and looks at him with the softest of smiles: “You too. Keep it.”

It’s too big for him... Sebastian lets the first 3 buttons open.

“Thank you...”

_Mi amor._ It sprung up in his thoughts like some headache-

Door swings open with a creak and Isaac trots in with 2 plates of stew, bread, cheese wedges and what looked like whiskey.

“Eat up!” Boy hands them the plates.

“Why thank you, Isaac.” Arthur gives it a sniff: “Venison stew?”

“With mushrooms, carrots and potatoes. The usual.”

“Should be getting Pearson something to work with.”

“Remember when you hunted that bear?”

“Don’t remind me!”

Sebastian sits down and digs in; it’s really tasty although sort of lacking in seasoning:

“No, please do, I wanna hear that story.”

Arthur groans: “Went with Hosea, and Isaac, some time back this spring and tried to hunt some big bear he saw. Scared the old man half to death that thing.”

“And then it mauled you.” Isaac added.

“Yeah... We ain’t got to bring the beast down so after Hosea left I gave it another shot. It got real pissed. But I survived.”

“Seems to be a trend with you two.”

“More Pa than me- See this why I need a helpin’ hand ‘cause you ain’t lettin’ me help and you always end up bloody.”

Arthur got grim all of a sudden: “Would you rather get mauled ye’rself, son?” Isaac sat quiet followed by a meek apology. Father sighed: “I’m tryin’ my best, Isaac...”

“I know... And we all got each other now.”

“Yeah.” Sebastian smiles.

Lily’s there. It looks like Rhodes in spring, the flowers have bloomed. She’s smiling, wind blowing her hair everywhere; her mother tied only the bangs at the back. He misses her... He misses her so dearly. And now she’s happy-

But her eyes grow wide, blood drains from her cheeks and she runs to him. Endlessly. He’s feeling the sinking in his chest, there’s noise in his ears. She looks to be screaming but he ain’t hearing her.

Hands, hands on him and it’s harder to breathe. All over him, fingers crawl at his skin. He shifts. He squirms.

There’s a knife next to his holster; they’re fighting his hand-

“UGH-”

That didn’t sound like-

“Arthur?...” Sebastian jerks awake.

The knife tumbles from his hand down to the floor.

“_Arthur?-_”

Man was holding him firm, his face contorted before it mellowed: “You okay, buck?”

“I-... You!” His arms sweep over Arthur’s back in search of scratches- sure enough...

“Get ye’rself together. Ye’r okay...”

“Fuck-” he exhales, pulls Arthur into his arms. “What have I done?”

“You’ve been writhing in ye’r sleep...”

“No, I-” He cups the man’s face, looks him in the eyes. _I hurt you..._

And Isaac’s staring at them both, as wide eyed as Lily in his dream, no, nightmare.

He gets up from the sleeping bags, looks for something to stop the bleeding he caused; health cure, alcohol. He sees the shaking in Arthur’s arms as he’s propping himself up like that. Isaac keeps on being mute.

“It’s a’right, son, go to bed.” Father tries to reassure, but boy springs out. Arthur sighs, when the boy joins him: “You know what happened.”

“A nightmare.” Isaac’s voice is meek.

“I’m sorry...” he apologizes at last.

“Never do it again, Seb.” Boy warns, sternly, staring him down; Arthur laid on his abdomen now, letting Sebastian pull the shirt up to get a look at the cut he’s put on the man’s back. “Never. Promise me.”

He looks him in the eyes: “Never again. I swear.”

“Go back to sleep, Isaac. Please...”

And this time he listens; tucks back inside the bed.

“I’m sorry.” Sebastian says again.

“It ain’t like you wanted it to happen...” Arthur siad, then groaned as alcohol got poured onto the wound. “You was fighting something.”

He’s gentle in the way he taps the blood away.

“More undead.” Sebastian admits. “I think... I thought of Lily...” Hands become unsteady, tremble. He stops.

Arthur takes the cure from next to his bent knees, flings it open and drinks it; another grimace: the taste is bitter, but they’d be knowing best...

“How’s she look like?” Arthur asked.

“Black hair; she got her mother’s eyes though.”

“She sounds like a lovely young lady then.”

“Was-”

A hand grips his knee:

“Maybe she just ran away.” Arthur tries to reassure. “Woman said she was gone not-”

“_You know how it’s out there-_”

“I survived, John survived, Abigail, Tilly, we all did and we’ve been running since we were still kids. If she’s out there and anything like her father she’ll be fine.”

Heart skips a beat; ain’t no one complimented him like that...

Thankfully the cut ain’t deep, should heal without stitches; but he wraps some cloth around it so hopefully it ain’t getting infected. Sebastian lays down again and pulls the man up into his arms; Arthur’s almost soft, but the size of him climbed on top of his chest made it hard to breathe. But he wants him close, close as can be; palm over the where the wound should be as if it’d bring comfort. He hurt him... and it’s all he’s got... He dares sneak a kiss on the jaw, breath’s still shaking. There’s a caress over his cheek that he dares lean into.

He wants to say it; it burns on his tongue:

“Perdóname-” he slips without wanting to. Arthur nudges him with his nose, eyes half open again: “Forgive me-” Arthur opens his mouth to speak. “I love you.” Head presses towards the others.

“Guess I loved you for a long time now too...”

Isaac’s probably still listening in.

The guilt is still all there, pounding at his ribs with force. It’s starting to feel like the same scenario’s repeating itself, slower this time, yet faster. He knows, or feels like he knows what’s going to happen. He had to love to lose. And now it felt somewhat like healing, so Sebastian just had to stab and maim it until it turned on him- If he ain’t loved Joseph, if he didn’t go through- He died. Lily died. Or got lost God knows where... And died.

Arthur, Isaac they might just die as well, just ‘cause he got involved-

_Look what he’s done!! _He clutches Arthur further, gaining a soft groan; tension’s released. He acted like he ain’t hurt but that ain’t changing the fact that he was... Arthur... what a man that was. It came so easy and yet so goddamn hard, ‘cause he’s hardly the man for him if for anyone at all. He loved him, he maimed him just now...

Thoughts spin and spin and heart’s all bitter ‘till morning comes, and Sebastian ain’t knowing if he even slept at all.

It’s early when he hears Sean yelling about some injustice that’s been done to him. Arthur ain’t looking all awake yet so he tries to slip out to take a peak out the window.

“Why the hell can’t I go?”

“Someone’s gotta look after the camp.” Hosea said.

“No shit, and ye leave me who say’s the poorest on guard duty?”

Hosea turns sternly: “Would you rather be caught and tortured again?! _Do as I say for once!_”

Sean’s mouth hangs open. And to Sebastian this smelled like a robbery. A big one. He should wake-

Arthur’s right behind him, still not completely sober:

“You a’right, buck?”

A nod: “How’bout you?”

Almost the faintest groan: “Just about the same. What’s goin’ on down there?”

“Think they’re fixing to rob something.”

Arthur’s mellow expression changes to panic. He rushes downstairs; Sebastian’s in toe. By the time they’re there Hosea was inside with Dutch, studying a map:

“The distraction will buy you all the time you need-” Hosea talked until they saw the both o’em come this way. “Arthur, Sebastian, you two’ll be helping me with the distraction.”

“I don’t know...” Dutch says.

“It’s the right plan. I know it is. I’ve tested it as much as it can be tested.”

“I know. I just...” Dutch looks at them on the stairs like there’s something he should talk about but can’t. “I’m nervous, I suppose.” He bends his head back over the map: “I suppose that’s it...”

“You’re never nervous, that’s been my job all these years. Arthur, Sebastian, come take a look. The patrols will all be going this way. Me and Abigail will cause a distraction, that will hopefully keep the police busy, and in case it’s not enough Arthur and Sebastian will help, and that’s your opportunity. Karen, Tilly, Abigail they all said the same thing: there’s only one armed guard.” Hosea bends over the map: “It’s this and we’re gone Dutch. You found the man with the boat already. We’re all set.”

It almost pains Dutch to look at Arthur, or both of them like they were, and still: “Arthur, what do you think?”

“We linger around here we know we’re dead.” Arthur says. “Guess that don’t leave us much choice. But as Hosea said, if the police don’t take the distraction bait we’ll be there to give you as much time as you can get.”

Sebastian ain’t sure about all this, but it doesn’t look like Arthur’s much convinced either, but waters were still after yesterday’s mistake and he’s guessing they’re trying to keep it that way. He hasn’t known them for very long but it feels as if Hosea wasn’t the drive behind most plans – something about that makes his chest feel tight.

“A’right...” Dutch grumbles. “A’right.” He stands up. “This is it, gentlemen. The last one. Look smart. Travel light.”

Someone somehow washed that suit he got for the boat job, so that’s what he ends up dressing into. Isaac’s looking at them only half confused; much rather worried.

Hosea busts into the room upstairs:

“Sorry, fellers.” He looks like he ain’t even minding them, turns to the boy: “Isaac, you get all your belongings ready and wait for them at the crossroads to Caliga Hall.” Hosea hands Isaac a gold bar.

Arthur frowns: “What’s this about?”

“I fear this might go wrong...” A sigh; old man rests on the bed. “This job, it _can be done._ Doesn’t mean we can do it, but we have to try. But it _might_ go wrong. I know I spurred Dutch into this one. It’s reckless, I know. But Dutch’s got no more patience and you ain’t got either, Arthur.”

“What you mean?”

“Sebastian, the boy... Maybe we should have let you go a long time ago.”

“I ain’t wanted to leave. This gang means everything to me-”

“This is the last job.” Hosea reiterates. “You’ll get out. And I’ll see that the rest get to as well.”

“John? Abigail, Jack?”

“I talked it over with Dutch. Their bags are all packed. So you better get them done yourselves.”

“You sure ‘bout this...” Arthur’s as perplexed as he’s worried. “What if it ain’t go as planned?”

“Doesn’t matter. Not to you anyway. John, you; you’ve got families and this feels like the end of the line. You either jump off now or risk tumbling off the edge if the tracks don’t stop-”

“Hosea, I ain’t giving up on these people-”

“I know. I know... Dutch knows. It’s gonna be fine.”

And Saint Denis awaits them: Hosea and Abigail in a wagon then Arthur and himself go on ahead. 15 minutes claimed Hosea, and only now is he starting to realize he’s never gone robbing his entire life – and that leaving alone the fact that this was a bank, a city bank. Heart begins to drum inside his chest and thoughts keep spinning: it felt wrong, or more like it felt like it was gonna end in a disaster, on the other hand something in him yearned for the promise of a fresh start somewhere, with people he’s grown to love. And he meant a truly fresh start, with money in hand to make something of themselves, so they ain’t ending up in a whore house in some city’s slums. He couldn’t bear that thought, not for Arthur, let alone his son.

In a moment of clarity he understands: that’s what Dutch did to them all, what this life did to them all. It offered the promise of some paradise despite everything that assured them to the contrary. Shootout after shootout and they still went on. And Sebastian too now lived inside that thrill with that exact same hope: get out with just enough money...

He was afraid...

They were headed right to the police station and while he was lost in thought on their way here Hosea explained to Arthur that he just needs to distract the police’s attention for long enough until he plants ‘something’ – namely some dynamite somewhere.

“I ain’t playing the married man, Hosea.” Arthur protested barely above a whisper.

“Fine then. You wait outside and keep a look-out. Sebastian?”

He knows where this is going: “Oh, I’ve been married for almost 10 years to this lovely woman.” He’s guessing he’s faked an affectionate marriage for long enough to know how to act it.

Hosea nods almost pleased.

Arthur dismounts; there’s plenty police around so he goes on to pretend buying a newspaper to read while he leans on the wall opposite. The lawmen throw Hosea a look as he tells Abigail something about meeting her and her wretched husband back at the wagon once they’re done with the complaint and heads around the back. They would have followed-

Arthur stops them, pointing the newspaper in their faces asking obnoxiously about some news there.

Him and Abigail enter the station. He had to invent some statement didn’t he?

Sebastian leans over the counter:

“Good morning, mister, I’m here to report a criminal.”

The Station Chief laughs: “Any proof on that statement, sir?”

“I think that professor Ruben’s been killing people.” This wasn’t a role, was it?... He wants to blame that man for the undead, he wants to blame him for the death of his little girl...

“_That _feller.” The chief twirls his moustache. “Sure, mister. But he’s got a permit to house mentally unstable people-”

“And you think he’s not experimenting on them-” Sebastian gets just a tad bit louder than he should have, somehow it feels right to put blame on him even if it’s barely above a gut feeling.

Abigail puts both her arms on his shoulders: “What my husband’s meanin’ to say’s the water’s gone bad where we live.” Eyes open wide, he didn’t make that connection yet, and he hopes what she said was going strictly off intuition. “Our kid’s got rashes all over. He’s got rashes all over. An’ I fear he’s losing his mind too.”

Chief twirls his moustache again: “I see... Well there have been people reporting poor water quality these days so I guess we’ll have people look into it.”

“It’s that man...” Sebastian growls, more or less acting. “I swear it is.”

“I’ll... I’ll look into it, mister. Ma’am. Good day to you.”

“Come now, this business’s getting you all upset again-” Abigail suddenly stops talking. Through the window she saw someone – and he couldn’t put his finger on it, but that man sure looked familiar...

Ross. He worked for the Police here 5 years ago. And he’s looking like he caught conversation with Arthur. A look back at Abigail and he strides forward, outside.

Arthur looks at him and whatever tenacity he had on his face turns, sorrowfully, to despair.

Ross gazes at Sebastian, crooks his lips in a smile and turns back to Arthur, who had his head even lower and eyebrows further drawn together than before.

"So you really aren't going to tell me what that bunch of yours is up to in this town right now? I know they’re here."

Ross had his back turned. Pistol is slowly taken out of the holster and he gives a nod to Abigail to mount up and get the hell away-

Police whistles: "WE FOUND ONE!-"

** _BOOM!_ **

Revolver's cocked and shot. Ross stumbles down while both o’em lose their balance from the shake of the explosion.

"ARTHUR!"

"Hosea’s-" the man protests, mouth hanging open.

“Isaac...” He had to, ‘cause Sebastian has no other way to convince him and they must get the hell outta here.

And Arthur listens, mounts back up on is mare and rushes forward; he follows. Man’s in a blind rage and panic and he’s heading towards the bank.

“Arthur-”

“We have to tell them they’re here, it’s a trap-”

“And what if they’re right behind us and we take them to the rest?” voice is low and it’s a shot at reason he ain’t sure he can reach right now.

An alarm’s been set off behind them and the streets crowd with lawmen and people in fine suits - he reckons Ross’s men. And he ain’t quite sure if he managed to deal a fatal blow… But there’s other things they need to worry about right now. Arthur’s hands loosen on the reins; Ghost shifts to a trot.

“You got any ideas?...” he sounds hopeless, and if his heart’s breaking up further.

“Get a scoped rifle and something with enough bullets. We’re gonna get on the roofs.”

Arthur’s confusion is only in his eyes for a moment; he lets Sebastian lead while he takes out his weapons. They’ve turned left already while escaping the law; if they were to go forward they’d be reaching the bank, tipping the police and Ross off as to where the rest of the gangs are. So they bear a harsh right between the factory deposits. He dismounts, rifle with him and Arthur follows. They flee the horses and duck between the buildings to a fenced off corner. Up they go over it, landing on some crates on the other side. There’s some workers that throw them terrified looks, but say nothing as the pair of them dashes through an entrance, then right ahead, past the corner of an office and through another archway.

Stairs ahead. They climb on those that were glued to the wall until they reach the scaffold stairs above and up again until they reach the top.

“What now-”Arthur’s out of breath and he feels there’s no way they could climb any further.

The bank is just on the other side.

“COME OUT! IT’S OVER!” They hear a voice from down there.

It’s the final straw; Sebastian cups his hands and squats a lil for support: “C’mon up.”

Arthur huffs, runs forward, climbs up and pulls his weight on top. Sebastian barely gets his head out of the way of the man’s swaying legs. Arthur throws him the end of his lasso and helps him on the rooftop. There’s one more hurdle that they pass the same way. The shooting already started in the meantime.

Arthur freezes once he gets to look down:

“They shot Hosea...”

A man dressed like him was laying bent in the middle of the street.

He doesn’t ask anything of Arthur, not now. Sebastian puts the scope to his eye and starts sniping the riders that come in from the main street. Arthur soon follows suit; his anger made him deadly. There’s wagons coming in from the side of the bank now; some don’t get to jump off.

It keeps going and going-

Another boom of a dynamite going off. They were trying to escape on the side. And if that was the case the two of them up on the roof can’t help much...

“They got Gatling Guns...” Arthur growls takes his eyes up from the scope, huffs and aims. Sebastian’s going for the driver. Local police is starting to join, and he’s thinking they should hold them off until they realize it’s them up there.

They’re finally spotted. Arthur puts the gun away.

“Reckon we should get outta here.”

“I think they escaped through the side of the building-” Some gunshots from somewhere further, sounds clear as if it were on the rooftops.

Arthur purses his lips, bends his head: “**_Goddamit!_**”

But they slide down from where they were and almost break their bones getting off the rooftops; then downstairs and out in the streets again. It’s quiet here for now, the commotion moving deeper into town. He whistles for the horses.

“We should probably get out of here-”

Arthur puts a harsh hand on him.

“We’re going to get his body back.” Sebastian straddles his shoulders with both arms: “We’re no use to them now, and if we don’t go we’re gonna be dead.” Arthur turns his head lips puckered, eyes shut tight. “Your life is more important... Isaac-”

“Okay.”

Their horses trot up to them; soon enough they’re out of the city, with Isaac waiting on them at the crossroads.

“Everything okay?”

“No.” Arthur’s grim. “Hosea got killed...”

Isaac’s eyes grow wide and his mouth hangs open: “... What they’d do to him-”

“Shot most probably-”

“We need to find a safespot until the law calms down.” Sebastian intervenes.

“Wha-What ‘bout the others? They okay?” Panic makes the boy’s voice tremble.

“We don’t know...”

“We can’t just go and leave them-”

“We _ain’t!_” Arthur’s voice raises, then a defeated sigh.

“But we have to wait first. Or else we might get shot ourselves.”

They both go quiet and don’t move a muscle. So it’s up to him to spur Ashley forward.

They end up somewhere across the Kamassa river by some abandoned shack. He can’t ask anything of Arthur, grieving like he was. Man just sat crouched against a wall, the boy to his side, a hand on his back. How could Sebastian not find himself by their side, one arm looped around Arthur and his frame as close into his own. And as soon as they’re all a pile, sobs come violent, shaking the man from his core. Arthur buries his face in Isaac and son snugs into his father. The second time in two days.

There’s soft kisses on Arthur’s temple, no words; they’ve spoken all they needed to the other day back in the rain. Isaac sits up after a while and tries to chip away at the planks blocking the home’s entrance, then kick some rocks. The two of ‘em sit cuddled for a while longer, forehead to forehead, in silence until the boy speaks up:

“What we gonna do now?...”

“Wait.” Sebastian tries to reason, but the boy simply nods.

“What if that kills the rest o’em?...”

“Dutch’s probably got them all someplace safe, it’s what he does...” but Arthur didn’t sound entirely optimistic saying that.

Silence. Some skidded stones:

“How long’re we gonna wait?”

“Don’t know.”

Boy returns to his father’s arms, and it’s him who breaks down into tears now: “Uncle Hosea... He said we gotta get away...” boy hiccupped with the sobs. “Why he said we gotta get away when he- _Why HIM! _All he’s been was a good man.”

“That man raised me like a father... The father I ain’t ever got.” Isaac clings to his clothing.

“We gotta find him... Burry him...” Isaac sniffs.

“We’re going to.” Sebastian leans in to rub the boy’s back.

Isaac flinches but eventually leans into the touch: “I’m afraid.”

“Me too, son.” Arthur confesses.

“Guess there’s still room for one more.”

Isaac pulls into his arms: “I’m sorry.”

“You got nothing to be sorry for, kid.” He runs fingers through the boy’s unkempt hair.

They wait a while longer, roasting some mature venison, before setting out further through the bayou on the north side. It seemed that in those rural parts the law ain’t as heavy. They considered going further into the city, starting from the slums. Half an hour later they did; propped themselves in a bar he knew, right across from the flea market.

They ordered drinks, looked out the windows, checking for police or what Arthur described as the Pinkertons. The barman was real helpful, tipping them off that they’ve been here and searched but left and he heard something about them checking all the trains that came and went.

They sat there hours, but barely drank 2 glasses of whiskey between the two o’em.

Sun began to set and at last they decide, with large brimmed hats and new coats from the back of their horses, to set out along the main roads of the city. There’s local police everywhere. No Pinkertons, not yet. They bear left by the park and past the stables. And here’s where workers were being questioned by the well-dressed men: detectives. They should be heading in the other direction. There’s few people on the streets.

Police whistles. And a black man running from the docks onto the train tracks and stumbling, falling. That was Charles, and Sebastian rushes forward.

He’s there before the Pinkertons catch up; color’s drained from his cheeks and he’s sweating as if from fever. And he dares call out to the detectives:

“What’s the problem, misters!”

“That man’s a bank robber!”

“And I see that he’s clearly unwell. You sure you got the right man? There’s plenty Negroes around- Or is that how you came to that conclusion in the first place.” He’s already down from the saddle, helping Charles up on Ashley. A glance back at Arthur, while the Pinkertons stutter to find their words: he’s walking past calmly as if nothing’s happened and they don’t know each other.

“That ain’t it, mister! There’s been a curfew. Restrictions!”

“What happened that I ain’t heard about?”

One scratches their chins, looks at the other as if the man before them is irreparably stupid: “Big bank robbery, mister... Ain’t you heard the gunshots?”

“Been working on a boat all day. Just got back barely 20 minutes ago. Ain’t known nothing.”

The Pinkertons keep throwing each other glances and hopefully his story seems plausible. Charles struggles up the horse at last and Sebastian mounts next. He almost got away.

“Sir, I’m afraid I can’t let you go with that feller-”

“I’m taking him to the doctor. He’s unwell. Haven’t you seen he can’t even stand!”

Detectives mumble something between themselves about him being or not being the man from the robbery, something about face, color, clothes. They look Charles up and down but from the angle he’s managed to stow him on Ashley’s back no obvious blood could be seen. The men conclude that they must assist him in taking the feller to the doctor. Sebastian obliges; God knows how long this man’s been bleeding. It was quite the wonder he was still alive after all this. Arthur trails just a bit behind them now.

Charles can barely speak, only mutters a ‘thank you’ as he barely holds onto the saddle.

There’s no one at the doctor’s when they get there. The detective is all eyes on how Sebastian helps the man down from the saddle, until he crumples over, falls face-first on the concrete with a throwing knife stuck in the back of his skull. Arthur signs him to get in as he takes care of dumping the body between some bushes. Isaac tags with them and not his father.

Arthur finds his way into the office soon after they’ve admitted Charles in. Beside a ticking clock, it’s quiet. And it’s got them all the more worried – people should be screaming getting treated for bulletwounds...

Doctor gets out at last, telling them that man’s lost quite a lot of blood and he shouldn’t travel far if at all.

Somehow they managed to get the man still breathing to camp then inside, Arthur deciding to offer him the bed in his own room. Abigail was back as well, but they really needed the information Charles could provide them about how it all went down.

Arthur sits down just a bit away from the bedside: “I’m sorry, Charles. Wish I could’ave done more...”

“Oh Arthur...” it’s quite the wonder to hear him speak so brutalized. “If it weren’t for you we might have not gotten out at all...”

“I ain’t done _nothing-_” Sebastian squeezes the man’s shoulders and Arthur looks up.

“Do you have any idea where the other are?” he asks afterwards.

“They were headed to the docks to board a boat somewhere.” Man heaved. “I distracted the men there so they could escape-” sentence is punctuated by a groan.

“You shouldn’t talk as much, maybe...” Arthur spoke up.

“Are you alright?” Charles still asks.

Arthur just bows his head, so it’s up to him to reassure: “Yeah... I think so at least.” Charles huffs as if at last relieved. “You should be resting.”

And they should be planning a way to get everyone else somewhere safe...


	14. Dear Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dutch's departure, Hosea's death and John's capture have left a big void that somehow needs to be filled, and Arthur feels it's his responsibility to do so.

They got John. Abigail went into the city and somehow found out that he was to be moved to Sisika State Penitentiary. And o’course they had to wait for that to happen if they even wanted to attempt a rescue. And they had to be moving themselves ‘cause here ain’t safe no more, but there’s little options. Other than Lakay...

What a goddamn mess... Hosea... He left too soon, and they ain’t managed to get the body back yet for a proper burial. But at least the girls found out where he was and could pretend to be working there to take him back – at least that’s what Mary-Beth said.

And with that whole thing they ain’t even noticed Kieran and Sadie went out together to go hunting for O’Driscolls. They found a camp and decimated it and found out that most o’em are holed up at Hanging Dog ranch. Kieran’s face when Arthur told him what happened to Dutch and the rest. Kid talked with Strauss about the medical supplies and promised to get the fill as soon as possible. Charles was barely holding up...

And Isaac’s barely eaten these past few days.

Sebastian noticed as well, asked Pearson for a small stew portion before he came up to the boy; sat beside him. Isaac frowned deeply and from where he stood then he swore he saw the boy tear up. But he took the bowl.

“Thank you.” Sebastian said, and the kid was entirely confused.

“Why you thanking me?” he didn’t take a bite yet; Arthur’s afraid of coming any closer.

“For being a strong kid all this while. Thought I’d give you something good.” And man reached into his pockets and handed Isaac a bar of chocolate and candies. “Here.”

Isaac took them, folded them into his lap. Then Sean came striding having more courage than the boy’s actual father.

“What’s the lil’ bugger sad ‘bout?”

Arthur came towards the congregation at last.

“Nothin’!” Isaac looked at the stew.

“And I who thought you lost ye’r books somewhere! ‘cause I haven’t seen you with ya’ nose in one recently.”

Arthur finds a spot next to Isaac and the boy immediately nestles closer to him, having Sebastian sigh. On the other hand Sean puts forward a book:

“Found this near Van Horn when I went scountin’ with Micah and Bill. I liked the cover.”

“Otis Miller...” it was a kid’s book that one. Isaac had some when he was younger and they all passed down to Jack, same as all the clothes Isaac had when he was a child. And all the toys. “Thank you...” Isaac says.

“There we go! That’s the smile!” Sean says, spins on his heels and walks away that funny way he did.

“Thanks, Sean!” Arthur beckons.

“What for?!”

He was something else... But at least Isaac took a bite of that stew now.

Sebastian bowed his head with a sigh.

“You a’right there, buck?”

“We have to make it.”

Boy’s head picks up to look at him; there was some sort of hopeful, yet sorrowful expression on Sebastian’s face. Arthur stretches a hand behind Isaac towards him and the man hooks his fingers through Arthur’s. Isaac picks up the pace of the bites now.

They were going to move the next day at the crack of dawn. Miss Grimshaw and Mr. Pearson gathered it all up, all that was missing was a bout of sleep to get them all alert in case undead were to show up. Lakay wasn’t a solution, but it was all they got for now... A worse alternative couldn’t‘ave been: the water there was gonna be unusable. But it was all they got.

Dutch was gone. Hosea too. They were left headless and in danger. So he’s gotta do _something._

It’s keeping him up, the thought that Dutch, Bill, Javier, Lenny would never come back and that somehow he’s the one they gotta look up to now. Hosea said he’ll get them all out, but Hosea’s dead and if felt like the old man’s legacy is in his hands now. He sighs, turns to the other side. At least he got his eyes closed, maybe it’d make up for the loss of sleep, but he hears Isaac shift beside him, then get up.

Arthur finds himself propping his body just slightly up.

“You can’t sleep neither?” Isaac asks seating himself next to a smoking Sebastian.

Man hums: “What’s the matter?”

“Are we really moving to Lakay? There’s undead there.”

Sebastian draws from the cig: “I know. But I’d never let any harm come to you. Or anyone in camp.”

“But what if nightmares happen again?...” Isaac’s voice is low. Arthur props himself up further with a heave. “I’m scared I’ll have nightmares too... Will I hurt Pa if they happen?-”

“No!” Sebastian puts a hand on the boy’s back.

“You could never hurt me, son...” Arthur gets up and Isaac’s jaw slacks open when he sees him there.

“But I can _cut_ you!”

Arthur finds his way next to them. “But you ain’t meant that-”

“What if I do somehow!?”, but he has no time to comfort him with words ‘cause Sebastian cut in:

“I’m afraid of that too...” Isaac looks up at him. “That I mean to hurt the people I love-“ Arthur tries to reach for him, but Sebastian stops him firm, yet tender. “That the problem’s been me all along.”

“It ain’t you-” Arthur attemps.

“ ‘cause we’re all just a lil’ in the wrong.” Sebastian finishes. “So it matters that we try better.” Man then lets go of Arthur and covers his face.

“How do I try?... Like the right way I mean?”

“Do you believe I tried?” asks Sebastian and he knows what that’s referring to. It was just a scratch. It’s barely sore right now. Arthur purses his lips.

It takes Isaac a moment: “You did... I’m so sorry-”

“Shhh, kid.” Sebastian ruffles his hair.

Arthur sits there: at last finding his words: “You know, I ain’t knowin’ much ‘bout the world, Isaac. Ain’t known much ‘bout being a father, but I tried what I thought was best.”

“I think... You did good.” Isaac comments, leans over to his Father. After a short pause: “So all I gotta do it try my best?...”

“And apologize when needed.” Arthur adds; Sebastian nods at that.

“You’re doing good, Isaac.”

“And you too, Seb.”

There was still some time before they should be departing, but they couldn’t quite go back to sleep. Even so, they weren’t the only ones awake.

Sadie just returned from something, woman seemed to be going anywhere she wanted, whenever she wanted and it ain’t like there’s someone out there to really stop her. Dutch was gone-

“Well, I’m glad I don’t have to wake you up, Arthur.” She makes a bee-line straight to them. “I happen to know that they’ll be moving John and a bunch of other prisoners just about now. So we better get going if we want a shot at getting him back.”

Sebastian already picked up the nearest riffle. Isaac stiffened and Arthur turned to steady him.

“I wanna come with you.” Boy said, gulping down the fear in his throat. “I mean I ain’t in no way goin’ to Lakay alone.”

Least he was honest, so Arthur’s almost on the brink of saying ‘yes’, if it ain’t for Sebastian throwing concerned looks back at him.

“Then you stay back and alert if anyone else’s comin’.” Arthur sat up and this wasn’t quite a solution, but in the end what choice did they have.

From Shady Belle they ride fast towards Saint Denis. They take the road by the train tracks, looking out for any large congregation of lawmen as they load prisoners on a boat. Sure enough on the easternmost doc there was a medium-sized boat with a convict hull.

“So I guess we just start shooting...” Sebastian sighed, loading up his gun.

“Yeah.” Sadie ain’t optimistic.

“But I think we can take that train that’s pulled in the station if we’re quick enough.”

“I-I can man the train.” Isaac jumped in.

“What you mean?” Arthur snapped back at him.

“It ain’t hard. Just gotta pull the lever and make sure the thing’s got enough coal. You be gettin’ John and I be waitin’ for you ready to start the thing.”

Arthur pursed his lips. It ain’t a bad plan and it’s certainly the best option Isaac got so that he’s out of trouble, while the lot of them create it all.

“A’right.” Arthur nods. “Then let’s get this done with then...”

Sebastian’s the first to place a shot; a good ol’ fashioned headshot. Arthur’s next to follow, hitting the feller in the neck. They spur the horses so they can get closer to the transport ship, still aiming best they could. Their mounts spook as bullets fly in their direction now. Arthur hops off and Ghost bolts to the side, the other two follow suit. They all duck behind some crates. Someone’s desperately trying to get the prisoners into the hull: there’s John, fighting his restraints best he can, and he swears he almost sees the man start biting that guard’s arm.

They keep on going with their rampage, slowly inching, cover to cover, towards the transport. It’s madness.

“There’s law comin’ from behind!” Sadie shouts, spins on her heels, reloads and keeps shooting.

There’s a gunshot in front of them, and before Arthur gets to gun the next policeman down he gasps as he stumbles forward from a poorly placed shot in the back.

“Arthur!” John shoots the chain gang he was tied to, and rushes towards them.

There’s police whistles everywhere, but the train blows its own now, covering it all up. And he knew Isaac was there, manning in.

A hand on John’s back as they duck behind the next crates. Sebastian covers them:

“Go! I got this.”

Arthur pushes John forward, before stretching into a full sprint towards the train. He’s soon at the platform.

“_Buck!_” Sadie was already heading towards them, but Sebastian’s just a bit behind with those lawmen encroaching. “Get the hell outta there!”

Man starts at a sprint. His hand outstretches to catch him and help him on the train as the train slowly jerks into motion-

“_SHIT!_” Sebastian stumbles forward. Shot in the calf.

Action’s swift as Arthur lets himself hang in one hand, legs and body reaching towards Sebastian to grab him. But he’s too far and they’re moving. He lets go:

“Don’t you dare!” Sebastian growls, but Arthur’s already sprinting towards him to pick him up. The law’s after them now

“We head to the water...” And some vision of how Dutch might have thought like springs in his mind. There’s a tiny boat just off the shore.

He more or less drags Sebastian after him while running to get to the boat. And just like that he also throws the man and himself in.

“Ugh-AGH!” Shoulder. His own. He pulls the revolver out and blows the bastard’s brains off.

Sebastian’s got his jaw clenched as he picks up rowing. And they’re moving from the shore-line pretty quick. The shots miss, land in the water. The train they should have been on is driving away.

“Guess we have to row ourselves to Van Horn...” by the Sisika Penitentiary...

Arthur tries his best to shoot the law that gathered by the water’s edge, maybe that’ll deter them from further pursue. ‘course they’ll keep coming after ‘em, by boat, but as long as they could put some distance between them there’s still a chance.

And through all this he forgot to think of the boy... He’s hoping at least Isaac made it out, though Sadie’s capable enough for both o’em. He’ll be fine, but he’s scared rotten, and Arthur’s heart’s sinking just at the thought. How could he- and yet what’s Sebastian if not family. They gotta stick together, for the boy, for themselves... But they ain’t gonna burry no one. No more.

Last shot. No one left standing; he turns to Sebastian:

“You okay?”

“Speaks the man shot in the back...” He’s heavin’ as he rows “Arthur, you a’right?”

Pain starts to fizzle into his nerves; he ain’t felt it before. He rotates his shoulder feeling the way the muscles pop around the bullet. A groan:

“I’ll live...” And looking ahead there seems to be clouds gathering: “Seems there’s a storm brewin’...”

Sebastian hums.

Rain hit hard, and no matter how much Arthur insisted they switch to row the man won’t let him, blamed the shoulder. Anyhow, the downpour seems to have deterred their pursuers, or at least they can’t see any for now. It took them a long time to reach anywhere, and with each stroke of the paddle some kind of agony started building up, and it ain’t the shoulder.

But there’s Van Horn at last, with what clearly was a train abandoned just a bit from the town.

They hop off the boat as soon as they land at the first dock. He sees their horses outside of the saloon.

He gets Sebastian up and they rush themselves inside as best they could.

“Arthur!” John’s gotten a change of clothes; some that don’t fit him no matter how you thought ‘bout it.

“PA!” Isaac jumps in his arms, before he pulls Sebastian in too. Arms wrap around the kid tightly and he hopes he won’t notice that he’s bleeding.

“We gotta get outta here, boys.” Sadie says, a hand on John’s shoulder. The barman was already looking at them funny, and there’s probably already law that’s reached here-

They did. They were searching the train.

They rode ahead, by the shoreline till they couldn’t see anyone anymore, then back to Lakay.

John asked ‘bout Dutch and the rest; what was he to say... He probably saw what happened to Hosea... Well at least they got him out before he got sent off to the Penitentiary. Isaac noticed both of ‘em were bleeding in the meantime, but didn’t say a word about it yet.

Abigail jumped ‘round John’s neck the second he got off the horse:

“Thank you! Thank you, all o’you. Thank you...” She drags John backwards, but the man struggles to stay put.

“Thank you!” John’s coarse voice calls out – ‘cause he ain’t really said it up until now.

Arthur tips his head as he finally sits down. A sigh. And Isaac’s step approach determined:

“This is over with... Dutch’s gone... We gotta get away.” There’s such desperation there, and almost as if knowing what his Pa’s about to say he continues: “John’s safe now...”

Arthur scratches his beard. His shoulder is up in flames. Sebastian sits next to him now; another sigh.

“And the rest o’em? We can get out, sure. Ride west and never look back, but Jack? Sean? The girls? They ain’t got money to go nowhere...”

Isaac’s confidence fades to doubt. His eyes dart to the side as if searching for a thought, then his lips purse:

“There’s money in Blackwater. We almost had enough. And now if only we knew where Dutch’s holdin’ his savings we could get those and it’d be enough for all of us...”

A lil’ shake of the head. All that seems so far away... and almost unreal. He’s convinced himself there ain’t no way to get those Blackwater money back, _especially_ not with Micah insisting on it.

“They may be knowin’ us, but they ain’t knowin’ Seb.” Isaac keeps going. “Or Kieran! And Sadie!”

And that... that don’t seem like such a bad idea. But something still don’t feel completely right about it... Or maybe he’s just living in the shadow of what Dutch preached... Thing is, he ain’t Dutch to say what’s the course of action, and he can never be him.

“A’right then... We set out for Blackwater...”

Isaac’s eyes grow wide in shock, then he flashes a smile and turns and bolts somewhere.

“Isaac!-” The boy ain’t listening.

Arthur purses his own lips and bows his head; Sebastian leans in further towards him:

“And what about the people we leave here? I fear there’s...”

“Undead?...”

Sebastian nods.

Isaac is back and he got no time to answer: clean cloth, health cure and what looks like a bottle of ‘shine. Here they go... To say that cleaning the wounds was painful was an understatement, but at least it ain’t as bad as other injuries they’ve sustained in the past couple of months... So much trauma in such little time, it’s almost a miracle they’re still alive. And there’s this really heavy feeling that this path o’pain hasn’t reached its end yet.

They ended up talking with Miss Grimshaw and Person about their idea and how things should be done just so people don’t end up sick or dead at the hands of swamp animals or undead. Surprisingly enough, it was Trelawney, who he somehow managed to overlook this entire time, that tried to assist them in makin’ up a plan of how to get in and out of the city without the law shooting the whole lot of ‘em on the spot. They decided Sebastian, Kieran and Isaac, ‘cause he insisted, were the ones to search the town for the money. Abigail said she might be knowin’ where the current stash was being held: in the graves behind Shady Belle; said she and some girls can go have a look and dig it up if they find it. Molly was the only one who truly protested:

“You’re all betrayin’ him, ya’know!” She sounded sad, but moreso, goddamn desperate.

“He’s gone, Molly.” Abigail turned to her sternly. “Ain’t no guarantee he’s ever coming back. Law may’ave got him or he just ran on to his pretty tropical paradise.”

“He’s not like that.”

“Tell ye’rself those pretty lies.” Sean chaffs from where he was, sitting on a crate, a repeater in his arms. “He don’t look he’s caring much for any of us as o’late, if he’s got Arthur is such petty arguments.”

Arthur sighs at last: “Well the goal’s always been getting out, goin’ West...”

“And now we got a chance at that. At freedom.” John’s sounding really excited about all this. “Ain’t we wanted that all along?”

Everyone falls silent.

“And this thing’s pretty much gone to shit.” John continues. “Jack got kidnapped if you remember...”

More silence, and for quite a while.

“Then I’m gonna get sure I pack you some supplies for the trip.” Pearson said.

“Do you need anything?” Arthur added.

“Yeah. I’ll make a list shortly.”

“And don’t forget medicine for Charles.” Sebastian said.

Poor Charles; man was barely clinging on to life... They got him in a separate room at Lakay where he could convalesce in peace. The look in his eyes when Arthur told him what they were about to do. He outstretched a hand:

“Don’t you get yourself killed-” Charles manages to choke out.

“And don’t you think of dying ‘till I get back.” Arthur takes that hand, and the man lets out a long breath of relief, as if that simple gesture healed everything.

It ain’t and it’ll probably never be...

Sebastian was waiting for him just outside of the room, with a handful of orchids.

“Karen and Mary-Beth got Hosea back.” He said and with that Arthur more or less crumbles over him and Sebastian nestles his head on Arthur’s shoulder, an arm wrapped around his back for support and comfort.

The girls robbed the morgue to get him and now they carried him somewhere just a bit off from where they were camped. The land was swampy and terrible for such a job, but they buried him. All of them, together, with the exception of Charles and Jack o’course. It was quiet at first as him and Sebastian started digging the hole, then Abigail broke down into a sob, Tilly and Mary Beth followed and Isaac too. Their clothes, their skin was all covered in mud. The deeper he went the harder it was to hold back the tears and the sobs.

They lowered him shortly after. He ain’t remembering ever hearing Swanson recite prayers, but man tried saying some words of parting before they put the dirt back in, even if he couldn’t remember even half o’it.

And Arthur carved the headstone himself: _“MAY HE REST IN PEACE KNOWING HOW MANY PEOPLE LOVED HIM”_.

And then they stood, in heavy silence, as it started to thunder somewhere off in the distance. The weather’s been odd this entire month, but now somehow it felt fitting, like some attempt at consolation. Most of them decided to head back then. A few stayed behind, as if waiting for him, or trying to urge Isaac to come with. But they stood still, until they were the only ones left.

He couldn’t part from the grave; sat there, crouched before the headstone. Sebastian had already placed those beautiful orchids right before it, and now the man was standing to console the boy.

This was all just one day... Getting John back, burying Hosea, deciding to go against Dutch’s loyalty to achieve the plan he always wanted. It weighed so goddamn heavy on his heart, but what other choice do they got... What other goddamn choice. There was no plan...

Dutch was gone.

Hosea...

Javier, Bill, Lenny. And then Mac, Davey, Jenny. Who else was gonna be next if they don’t do something. What’ll ‘come of Dutch if they go forth with this?... Is he’s even coming back?... Something give him strength for all this!

One last sigh and he gets up, shortly gathering Isaac in his arms, wiping tears form the boy’s face.

“Let’s get what Mister Pearson asked for...” His voice was so weak, and the thought that Arthur’s not done enough for him in this time of need screams inside his head.

They do mount up and have the bold idea of heading into Saint Denis; the grocery story is by the docks where the Police usually don’t hang around and he reckons the Pinkertons must be looking for them up near Van Horn. It’s still a terrible idea... And somehow they manage to get there with the wagon in one piece.

They head in to order the supplies, it was already getting dark outside-

_Jaime?!_

Arthur freezes in place, but Isaac’s already at the counter handing the shopkeeper the list and asking him to fill it out. Sebastian places a hand on Arthur’s back-

“Arthur?” Jaime turns around and more or less bumps into him.

“Hey there kid...” he stutters out.

Jaime darts looks at Sebastian, then at Isaac, then back at him wide-eyed. And finally he bows his head.

“I heard you saw Mary...”

“I did...”

“I heard-” Sebastian lets his arm fall to the side and he pulls away, pretending to look at the shelves. Jaime follows him with his gaze. “Well I... I heard you was sweet on someone else now...”

Arthur ahems: “Yes...”

“And that’s... uhm, what was he called-”

“Isaac.” Arthur offers the answer.

Jaime chews his lips: “How- How old is he?”

“16...”

“Oh... So... That means he was... You’ve been a father while you’ve been with Mary?”

Arthur bows his head and at last his son approaches the two of them: “Yes.”

“... Did she know?”

“ ‘course she did. I-”

“Who’s this?” Isaac was terrified and still somehow lacking patience.

Jaime extends a hand: “Jaime Gillis. Your father taught me how to ride a long time ago.” He never took that kid for a diplomat, but then he turns at him: “I’m really glad to see you Arthur, you know.” He shakes Isaac’s hand and for once the boy don’t seem threatened by the men before him. “Things have been really tough you know... Daddy’s got shot at a poker game.”

“Jesus-” Arthur covers his mouth.

“Yeah, it got bad. He’s been gambling day and night, losing money, the little there still was , and some drunk fool accused him of cheating, pulled a gun out and shot him...”

He never liked that man but: “I’m so sorry, kid...”

“I don’t miss him. Not really. But he’s left us with a lot of debt... And Mary’s in a bad way...”

He’s lost. So completely lost.

But Sebastian’s there, stepping closer, beside Isaac and behind Jaime.

“...Is this one of the fellers you ride with, Arthur?” Jaime asks almost fearful.

“No. He’s... uhm...” A scratch of the beard. “Things ain’t been easy on my end either. Uhm... The gang’s broken up.”

But the courage don’t last. When the clerk calls to help him with the groceries both Sebastian and Isaac leave to lend a hand. And Arthur’s stranded with the decision-making.

“Does that mean you’re no outlaw no more?”

A deep breath in: “I don’t know...” And somehow he tries to man himself back up, searches his satchel for money. “But listen, I’m sorry it is the way it is, Jaime... Here.” He places some bills in the boy’s hands. “It ain’t much, but maybe it’ll help...”

Jaime stares at him: “... But do you got enough?...”

“Yeah, I’ll live-”

Jaime jerks into a motion as if he suddenly remembers he had something in his pockets, then extends him a letter.

“Mary wrote this a while ago... Asked me to post it. For you.”

He takes it but doesn’t have the courage to open it.

“Thank you...”

“Arthur?” Sebastian’s voice calls from outside.

“Comin’!” He turns to Jaime: “Keep your sister well I’ll see her soon.”

And with that he gets out the door.

“That was Mary’s brother, right?” Isaac butts in. “What she want this time?...”

“It’s nothin’.” Or at least that’s what he hoped. “Said their Daddy got shot.”

The letter’s in his satchel and he’s up on the wagon once more. Sebastian’s voice is lower:

“You alright?”

“I don’t know...”

Man puts a hand on his back and extends something to him: a notebook. A pressed flower falls from its pages: a lily white orchid.

“I thought you’d like one.” It was freshly pressed, not dry yet; Arthur reckons he found it with the other orchids he put on Hosea’s grave.

“Sebastian Castellanos...” He’s suddenly emotional. “You really are the romantic type, ain’t you?”

A chuckle: “I’m trying my best.”

It’s reckless, but there’s a kiss on the back of Sebastian’s hand, swift:

“Thank you. Really.”

“It’s been a hard time. On all of us.”

“Everything that went down it’s just...” A sigh. Isaac climbs to rest his elbows on the back of the wagon seat

“But we can get out now.” Isaac says. “We get the money from Blackwater and we’re gone... No one else has to die.”

Somehow those words reminded him of Dutch, in a very cruel way, ‘cause he knew the kid really meant them, but he ain’t got no power over that decision, while Dutch had what it took, but somehow it feels he ain’t quite as genuine as they believed... Pulling him back in like that... He could have run away the moment he knew he wanted so, with Sebastian, Isaac, but it felt like Dutch had everyone else gripped into some dream that now’s furthest it has ever been, even thou they’re fixing to get the money back from Blackwater...

“No one’s dying no more, son.” It’s truly a promise he intends to keep. He ain’t the man to do the job, but Christ A’Mighty he has to try. For them two, and John and his family, and for Hosea.

They barely buried him hours ago...

“We’re gonna get out, Isaac.” Sebastian promises too. “One way or another...”

Time passed too fast and yet too goddamn slow. He got stuck reading and re-reading that letter Mary gave him. It was a goodbye letter, told exactly what happened to Daddy and what she should be up to next, and for all that to happen she had to finally let go of what made her so heavy: the ring he gave her so many years ago, hoping they’d be married one day... But she went on to become Mary Linton. It stings in his chest, but probably not as much as it would have stung some years or even months ago. He reckons then he might have not thought that he ain’t alone, and not be grateful that his son’s always by him.

Isaac fought so goddamn hard all this time, mostly just keep his father alive... He’s been ruthless to the kid – or well, maybe not _himself _ but the situations he’s dragged the boy in ‘cause he’s an outlaw for sure. Wasn’t there some pompous philosopher that said we’re bound to repeat the mistakes of our parents?

Still he held onto that ring, lips pursed. He fidgeted with it, put it on and took it off. It always was too big for her. Maybe it ain’t too big- Christ... He stops the thought midway, afraid. But _he_ gave Arthur pressed Orchids to put in his journal, an engraved pen to write with and Arthur gave nothing back. Fingers tap the medallion. He’s gotten used to the weight of it. He should be giving something back, but he’s scared it’s rushed maybe-

A sharp breath in.

After Blackwater. If they ain’t gonna die. If they can be set free... He pockets the ring and his shoulder stings doing so.

There he is, across the camp, smoking like usual, by the edge of the water... He’s guessing the man had quite the habit to drown his sorrows with tobacco. Arthur was more of a whiskey man...

There’s no one around, so thumbs sneaks underneath the ammo belt, pulling Sebastian’s back to his chest. He ends up fawning over the skin of his neck. Man hums and lulls his head backwards, bumping into his own.

“I do love you.”

You could hear the smile in Sebastian’s voice: “What a coincidence-” Arthur’s hands feel firm thighs as they run just slightly down. A murmur of delight. “I do too.” Lower. “Arthur~” it’s spoken with the sweetness of an innuendo. And it surely ain’t pure, but that ain’t what he wants. Not right now.

He needs a clear mind, or at least as clear as he can get it.

There’s still a few kisses down the neck, towards the shoulder, feeling the pulse of a vein just below. Sebastian presses himself further against himself; arms go up to hold him. Chest rises and falls under his palms. How’s this sensation so unfamiliar when he thought he should have held a lover like this before. Not Eliza, not Mary. He’s done wrong by them. That last kiss stops, he huffs. One more.

He has to do right by someone at least...

Chin rests at last on Sebastian’s shoulder and both of them now sway gently from side to side.

“You think we can make it?” Arthur says. “It’s a fools errand...”

“I feel we can execute this properly...”

Voice cracks: “You sound just like Hosea.”

Sebastian wraps his arms tighter around Arthur’s.

“We have a chance, Arthur... Trust that. Trust-” words got cut in his throat. “Trust me...”

“Always, Buck-”

“SHIT!” following a loud crash of tin cans. Sounded like Marston.

They pulled apart.

“John?” Arthur called out.

“Uh. Yeah?”

“The hell you doin’ back there?”

John huffed and he felt the need to check up on him. And Marston tried to hide things: he was packing supplies on Old Boy.

“What the hell you doin’?” There was a sting in his voice; Sebastian was only peeking from behind the corner.

“I’m coming with you.” John gathered the courage to say.

“_No!_ John, you got a _family!_”

“And ain’t you got one o’your own, Arthur? Isaac!?” John took a step forward. “I heard he was gonna come with you_._ _To Blackwater!_ And you always prided yourself as the ‘respectable’ father.”

“That’s different...” He doesn’t want to discuss the matter of his failed parenting to John, not right now.

“Different?! How’s-”

“He grew up in this life and you know he did!”

“Jack can have a much better life than Isaac did.” Sebastian intervenes, limps closer.

“Yeah... I know...” John’s lost there. “But I can’t let him throw away his own life for me!” John furiously points at Arthur, talking to Sebastian as if he’s impartial to the matter. “Just look what happened today. You two got separated and shot, ‘cause I got caught. Isaac? Isaac drove a goddamn train to get _me_ out of trouble-”

Arthur huffed and lowered his gaze. Sebastian puts a hand on his shoulder:

“And what do you think coming along will achieve?”

“... I don’t know. But I feel responsible.”

“Well in that case we’re both terrible fools...” Arthur scratches at his beard saying that.

“What’you mean?”

“Dutch is gone. Hosea too. Someone’s gotta take care of all these people before it goes completely to shit...”

“I know, Arthur. And I can-” a sigh. Marston looks away. “I _want_ to help. My family. Yours. I ain’t a kid no more, Arthur.”

“Wonder if we ever was...”

“So what’s your vote? Sebastian?” John tried to bring in the third party as if that was any help in the decision-

“If I say no you’re still going to string along, ain’t you?”

John blinks, then furrows his eyebrows. Arthur sighs in defeat:

“ ‘course he would! Who do you think raised him?”

“Then I guess that decision was never ours to make...” Sebastian comments.

“Blackwater always was a fool’s errand and with him comin’ along it only puts us in even more danger.” Arthur whispered to Sebastian. “The more of us we are the faster they’ll get wind of us-”

“But maybe that can work to our advantage.” Man said. “If they’re busy seeing many of us in all places they can’t draw the law in one spot.”

Arthur bobs his head up and down after a moment’s ponder: “Maybe ye’r right...”

“Then in that case you might be needing another man!” Sean’s voice pitched from next to the cabin.

“No.” He bellowed. Sebastian held him back ‘cause he almost wanted to come scold the Irishman upclose. “The camp needs protection-”

“C’mon. There’s 3 of ya headin’ into Blackwater for the money, that I reckon’s hidden in some cellar or a wall. Two o’you’d be easy enough to catch, especially since ye’r one of the gang’s poster boys. Bring Sean MacGuire along and they might just think they got a fish’on the line. Got me they did, and I hope they’re stupid enough to think they can do that twice!”

“Well I reckon they will...” Arthur huffs.

“So what? You know, burying Hosea today made me really think. I don’t got no place to go on from here. No one else. Not really-”

“_Sean-_”

“Lemme finish for once, will ya? Listen here, English, ya ain’t go the youth for these kinds o’crap no more. I keep movin’! It’s what I do. But not Isaac.”

His son... it’s always his son.

And will always be.

He nods, but Sebastian’s the one to talk, a hand on his back for reassurance, comfort, some real sense of security that’s been sorely lacking:

“Be sure to pack enough provisions and ammunition then.”

It was 6 of them... 6 of them riding in formation to Blackwater. They just as the others got time to get up. Abigail was furious but had no strength to argue her husband’s decision, much like Arthur did last night. Sadie stood behind, to defend the camp; her and Miss Grimshaw said they’d be taking care of everyone, and especially Charles. Surprisingly, Trelawney too, said he’d be looking for doctors and other people that may try and help their situation.

He ain’t ever felt as bleak leaving the camp. It was almost as if they were headed for a war that they ain’t ever gonna see the end of. And maybe that’s how it was gonna be, by the way Sebastian insisted riding sweep with a loaded shotgun in reach. He hoped, maybe even prayed, that they won’t get to use their guns until they reach West Elizabeth, but you can’t be sure of anything nowadays...

But it’s quiet. They leave Lakay and head north, then west towards Emerald Ranch, then past that into the Heartlands. It was midday already.

“I think we should give the horses a rest.” Kieran comments. “At the pace we’re going, we’re gonna reach the Upper Montana by nightfall anyway.”

Him and Isaac were riding point so when he stops, everyone else does:

“Sure.” He wasn’t particularly eager to get to Blackwater, would have much preferred to slump against a tree with Sebastian by him, and Isaac smiling. And something told him that was a fool’s dream.

They started a little fire after all and brewed a bit of coffee. And Sebastian beat him to the tree; smoke puffing between his lips. Arthur hands him a cup with a smile.

He groans sitting down, his shoulder stinging form the bullet-wound.

“How’s your leg holdin’ up?”

“Sore...” Sebastian muses, throws the cig away and washes the taste of tobacco with bitter coffee.

Arthur puts a hand on his leg, the thigh just a bit above the knee and massages it gently. And all this time he’s been thinking:

“So... what’s your thoughts on marriage...”

Sebastian huffs: “You thinking about marriage?”

“Maybe.”

“Who’s the lucky charmer?” He might have sounded cheeky if the atmosphere wasn’t so dreary in the midday heat at they were riding to what could possibly be their last time together.

“I’ll give you 3 guesses.” He keeps up the tone; they need the levity...

Sebastian catches his hand.

“Gained some optimism on the way?” the man asks.

“No... But if we get out, if we really get out-” Palms squeeze together. “We would have been together through a lot of things.”

Sebastian closes his eyes, cracks a smile: “Yeah...”

“What’you doin’ back there without me, Pa?” Isaac stands in front of them. He’s been eaves dropping.

“Nothing that concerns you, boy.” He’s trying to get back the lighthearted tone he usually does, but it just don’t hit the same... A sigh. “Com’ere, Isaac.”

Isaac plops in the dirt beside him and he feels so heavy in his arms.

“I love you, Isaac.”

Boy clings to him: “Me too Pa...”

“Whatever happens, we stick together.”

And John... Man kept quiet throughout the entire day, but rode hard and worked hard, as if he was trying to make up for something that he can’t make up for. But he ain’t unforgiven; he knows that. John may be dumb, but he ain’t entirely an idiot, and still this might just be the most foolish idea he’s got, allowed Sean to get dragged into this... He fears that little Irish bastard’s gonna do a mischief and end up ever worse than before. John too. Neither of them got the most skill, or charisma... or brains, but look who’s talking...

It got to nightfall indeed by the time they reached the River, and they decided to set up camp inside the deserted Fort Riggs. He ain’t liking the place, but it’s got a roof. They ate and went to sleep, well most of them at least. Isaac was out like a light and after checking up on each other’s wounds he urged Sebastian to get some rest; man barely got shut eye the past few days and the bags under his eyes had turned purple by this point.

“Go to sleep, John.”

But John gets up and walks out of what used to be a classroom. Arthur follows to stop him and get him inside.

“The Hell’s with this tantrum, Marston.” He’s sadder than he’s angry.

“Do we have an escape plan? A place where we can run off from and miss the law.”

“Was thinking Quaker’s Cove... You, me, Sean, we split up, go ‘round and be wary of the law, then meet up back there, wait for the rest and return on a boat I guess...”

“Okay... Sounds like something we could pull off... but- But if... If we make it and it turns out well ... are we really going to say goodbye, Arthur?”

It takes him a moment to answer.

“Yes...”

“I’m gonna miss you, brother.”

“We ain’t there just yet...”

They crossed the river next day, first Sean, then John, then Sebastian, Isaac and Kieran, who were to go into town, and lastly himself. Ahead of them, in a vast parched prairie, opening up to the lake, dusted and half finished: Blackwater...


	15. Five of Spades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actually getting the money from Blackwater; is it achievable?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit shorter but i hope you enjoy!

He ain’t thought watching his son ride into the rising sun with the best man he knows to watch out for him will still leave his heart that heavy and his mind that bleak.

Arthur was the last to split from the group. No one questioned it, but now he’s feeling he’s put them all in far greater danger than they needed to be...

Quaker’s Cove... Sean took north on the prairies, John straight ahead. And Arthur’s guessing he’ll be lingering maybe just a little more ‘round here just to make sure. But he ain’t sure. Of anything. That thought creeps up like a shiver up his spine and gnaws at his brains. Hands twitch on the reins and Ghost nickers.

“Sorry girl...”

He’s gotta keep his cool about this. Think. The Pinkertons should be back in Saint Denis, looking up and down for them after that bank job. Dutch is- well... Dutch ain’t on the continent and the rest are hidden in a corpse ridden swamp. It ain’t ideal, but Abigail, Jack, the girls ain’t really the people the law’s lookin’ for. But Milton knows them ‘cause he’s been in camp when they got Jack. Shit... Well it ain’t ideal. But that still means the Pinkertons ain’t in Blackwater. So just the local law. It’s been a few months so maybe things settled down enough to catch them lazy. But then there’s bounty hunters... A deep sigh.

_It’s far from ideal._

He feels stuck in Dutch’s head and at the same time doubting every goddamn thought he’s having. He ain’t a planner. He ain’t a leader. They’re stuck, they’re headless and Arthur can’t possibly fill in that gap. This is beyond foolish... but now he can’t stop it.

They might just die here-

Horsemen.

Arthur’s just a lonesome cowboy, hat on his head with the brim hiding his face. He takes to trotting in the other direction, there’s a shepherd coming down the prairie and Arthur tips his head and bids the man good-day and he salutes back. Sheep bleep as they pass the road and the horsemen that came from Blackwater took no notice in him.

He moves slow, too close to town, but he’s afraid otherwise he won’t be there to be a good distraction or help in case anything is to happen. His son is in that town and his heart aches just thinking about it. But he’s with Sebastian and he _trusts him._ But he doesn’t trust himself...

And slowly, despite the ache in his chest, Blackwater’s left behind. He picks up the pace and takes the road to Quaker’s Cove.

John seems to already be there, looking on from a ridge beyond the Lower Montana. Arthur can’t help but come near.

“Seems to be a gang down there.” John says, quietly.

He frowns and takes out his binoculars. He remembers that place being called Thieves’ Landing. It was a small settlement, not a town, more like a village, it was abandoned when they were camping outside Blackwater, now it seemed another gang moved in. Guess the Pinkertons were too busy chasing them all over New Hanover and Lemoyne to do their business properly.

“I know those boys...”

“They’re Flaco’s men.” John chimes in. “Never thought they’d come this far North...”

“You ain’t seen nothing. I heard Hernandez was in the Grizzlies with a bunch. Me and Isaac are lucky we ain’t ran into them.”

“Jesus... So what does that mean for us?”

“We lie low.”

“They got a boat-”

“Don’t even think about it. We can’t handle the commotion.” He stuffs the binoculars away. “C’mon. Let’s take a look at the docks. We might have some boats there.”

One. There was one boat. A larger one, but he ain’t sure it’s gonna fit all 6 of them. He’s getting real anxious. But for now it’s just a little past noon and nothing happened yet. Heat started to settle in; sweat was already dripping down their foreheads.

They waited inside; he took down his coat, leaned his head back against the wall and let the breeze gently sweeping in from the broken window rush down him. One button opened. John looked at him then away.

“It ain’t been that hot last time.”

“It was winter.” Arthur says depleted, somehow though finding the strength to rummage through his satchel; he doesn’t know what he’s looking for.

The ring... It slips onto his finger then between them. He takes it out and stares at it. He’s really thinking of giving it to Sebastian. Maybe pick out the gem so it looks less suspicious to the stranger’s eye. He fondles with it and ‘course Marson catches glimpse of it.

“What’s that?”

“Ah. Just some memento.” He purses the ring into his palm so John.

“From Mary?”

He didn’t really wanna answer that. “Yes...”

“Ain’t you wanted to marry her?”

“She wouldn’t have me. You know this.” Don’t rub it in...

“Sorry...” And it really felt like an apology. “I... uhm. Do you want to _marry_ him?”

“I don’t think it works that way.” Maybe he can forgive good intentions, but this’s feeling quite uncomfortable.

“How does it work then?”

“John...”

He’s clueless and keeps pressing on.

“I mean how do you love a man? Is it the same like a woman? Like it was for Mary?” A short pause before he draws the conclusion: “No... Can’t be. I mean how do you- you know...”

“_John._”

Silence, but a quick glance at the man and it’s clear John ain’t done thinking; he’s scratching his chin and his eyes start to widen the more time passes. He sees him instinctively tuck his legs closer to his body as he stares at Arthur complete terror on his face:

“Did you-” and the man’s hand gestures with the finger going up.

“You better shut your mouth or I’m gonna shove a barrel where the sun don’t shine, Marston-”

“_Sorry! A’right! Jesus..._”

Silence fell, but not for long.

Sean came in not that much later with unexpected caution; he probably saw Flaco’s men just a stone’s throw away from them.

“How long do you think we gotta wait?” Sean sounded impatient, yet in a wary way.

“ ‘till they get back.”

“Haha, very funny, Marston.” Sean flopped down between them. He was sweaty and looked downright exhausted. “I found some law. They ain’t saw me but they seemed to be headed this way. Reckon’s something to do with this gang that’s holed up here.”

“We ain’t got long in that case.” Arthur muses, ending up scratching his chin; they couldn’t leave without them. Just out of principle he ain’t leaving Isaac in Blackwater.

It was an unspoken truth that the three o’em had to remain inside as to not raise suspicion, that if 3 whole horses outside of the huts ain’t clue enough. It’s some time later, after there was enough silence that Arthur went out to flee the mounts. They ain’t gonna get out on them anyway and even so his stomach sank seeing the horses run into the distance – they were more or less stuck here. And he fears the extra guns he took from the saddles aren’t gonna be much help or reassurance.

He returned inside, handed a gun to John and Sean.

Noon turned to sunset, then dusk. The choir of insects outside changed with the light; from the loud buzzing of prairie bugs to the chirping of crickets. It was a dark night out, dry, smelling of dust ready to fill their lungs and coax them into a cough. And still no Isaac, no Sebastian or Kieran...

He didn’t fall asleep the entire time, even though to the other two it probably looked like that’s what he was doing: hat over his face, puffing slowly. His eyes were even closed, but his mind was wide awake. A hand rested over his chest, fingers touching the Saint Sebastian medallion hoping it brought some luck with it. It’s been there since they met and at this point it makes no sense asking why; it just was the way it was and it ain’t been bad on him.

The world has always been unkind and this undoing of the gang ain’t been Sebastian’s fault in any way; Arthur could maybe blame himself, just ‘cause it was easy and he’s the one that kept wanting to pull away. But his place ain’t away; it ain’t inside the gang no more either...

He was a man of no one and nothing, and still Arthur had a son and a lover. Pressed orchids in a notebook. An engraved pen-

Hooves.

He jumps up and both Sean and John ready their guns. Arthur raises one hand up; maybe it’s Isaac...

He walks crouched down towards the window to peek through. There was little he can see from here, but that ain’t Ashley, Big Sir or Branwen; he knows those horses.

“Is it the law?” Sean whispers.

Arthur just bobs his head. Marston mouths an insult.

“Think they’ll be sleeping?” Arthur hears from outside and quickly puts a finger to his mouth so the other two don’t peep.

He listens in: 

“Don’t think Flaco’s here anyway.”

“Boss said-”

“Boss says shit.”

“Shut up! It’s still a threat less-” The men suddenly stop talking. “Who’s there?”

“Good night, fellers.” Sebastian...

Heart sinks in his chest faster than heavy boots in deep snow.

“You better step away, sir, there’s dangerous men hole up down there in Thieves Landing.” One of the mounted law tells the other

“Oh- Oh yes, mister.” Sebastian can surely put up a role when he wants to. Him and Hosea- Lips purse and eyes feel hot. Arthur sniffs and keeps on listening: “We’re just going to take a boat from Quaker’s Cove to the other side o’ the river.”

“A’right then mister. We’re gonna make sure you reach the other side safely-”

“John, Sean-” Arthur retreats from the window and urges the other two to go outside. “John in the boat, stay low. Sean, you and me hang on the side into the water.”

And o’course he sits back to watch out if anything gets out of hand, which it quickly does. One of the lawmen spots him crouched there like some creature:

“What the- HEY AIN’T THAT MORGAN-”Man gargles on his own blood as Sebastian pulled out his revolver and shot him point blank in the head. The other man readies his weapon but he falls limp in the saddle; both Isaac and Kieran put a bullet in him.

Sebastian jumps out of the saddle, almost tumbles over; his leg’s still shot. The other two follow.

“GO!” Sebastian shouts scoping out the horizon. Before starting the descent himself.

“Into the boat.” Arthur instructs his son, briefly patting both his shoulders as he meets him; Kieran hears him too.

He runs to meet the Buck; help him with the last steps down the steep:

“C’mon-”

“Got this.”

There’s riders drawing near and Sebastian waits no time shooting up the slope. The lawmen’s mount spooks, bucks back.

It’s a mad dash towards the boat. Sean’s rowing with all the strength he’s got. They’re heavy- much too heavy. John and Kieran are already raining bullets on the law. One gets shot and falls, with the horse to boot, down the slope. The sound the poor animal makes is infernal.

Arthur switches places with Sean as soon as possible; he’s got more strength and it feels the boat gains speed before it’s rapidly swept downstream. They’re too heavy-

Wood creaks. Wood moans. He can’t look behind to see how far they’ve still got. His shoulder pops and starts to fizzle into pain; it crawls through his arm like spiders.

“Wat-WATER!” Marston shrieks, letting his gun fall from his arms as he stands up. Boat sways. Isaac pulls the fool down as Kieran straddles the boat with both arms trying to steady it. Sebastian and Sean quickly follow.

Arthur keeps on rowing, teeth grit, grinding on each other.

They keep on taking water. The current’s too fast, too furious and the rocking Marston set them in ain’t stopping... It’s too late.

“We gotta jump.” Arthur pants letting go of the paddles.

“_I can’t swim-_” Panick is obvious in the movement. The law on the shore ain’t done shooting at them; a bullet draws in close and they all duck on instinct.

Boat tips over.

“Marsto-” Arthur manages to grab John’s hand just in time before their heads get duck under water.

It’s swift and merciless; he’s swatting an arm around trying to get a breath before it runs out. John is heavy and doesn’t do anything. It drags him down. Arm finds grip; loops around John’s back and pulls him close. Legs swim like a frog’s and the arm rows upwards.

Their head finally bob above water. John gasps as if he never tasted air. They’re so much far downstream.

“Climb on my back-” He can barely talk. His chest strains and lungs seems to be smoldering from the lack of oxygen and strain.

John scrambles to do as he’s asked. Arthur dips below the surface to the other’s panic to grips him tighter and sways upwards; he pulls himself up with a gasp and keeps swimming.

“PA!” he can’t see him but he hears a wet Isaac run towards him.

The swishing of a lasso rope. It flops in the water out of reach.

Arthur keeps on swimming. He’s starting to lose strength against the furious water.

Another swat of the lasso on the water surface- He outstretches his hand and loops it inside. Isaac pulls. Kieran shortly helps him heave the two men to shore. The rope burns into his wrist. His legs and arms still work to lessen the toll for those on shore.

They’re pulled out of the rapids.

John rolls off his back and doesn’t even scuttle away from the place he’d fallen, hand on his chest, wheezing, eyes glassy, wide, staring blankly at the ski. Arthur tries to pull himself up; Isaac and Sebastian help him. Kid sticks under his arm and don’t seem like he wanna let go. Sean’s still trying to place shots on the law, although it died down as the gang in Thieves Landing got wind of the commotion and started their own assault.

“We gotta get out of here.” Kieran says, pulling John to his feet.

He don’t got the strength to run and still they find themselves racing up a hillside.

The gunshots are distant now. They stop under a shriveled tree to regain their breath. They must have crossed into Texas, but...

“What about the money...” Arthur heaves against the trust, slain.

“We each got a bit in our pockets.” Isaac states.

“It’s roughly two million.” Sebastian says.

“My Lord...” Arthur manages to crack a smile.

“And where were the dreaded money?” John gains enough voice to speak.

“In an abandoned outhouse.” Kieran continued. “Don’t ask why I-we thought it was there.”

“Now we just need to get back to Saint Denis...” Isaac wheezes, leaning closer to his father.


	16. Bleaching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is trying their best to get back to the rest of the gang, despite lacking the means. Things take a turn for the worse.

The wind is harsh; he can hear it in the twisting of the branches above. They found a tree perched on a ridge of this plateau, underneath which the soil cut abruptly, creating a wall that they decided to use as shelter for tonight. Wet and with the air cooling further as night fell they ended up knees to their chest and arms folded over each other to preserve warmth.

John kept coughing; reckons his lungs still got some water left in them – and frankly they ain’t got the time to pat the man rough between the shoulder blades to get him comfortable. And then he never asked further.

Arthur shielded his son, like he always did; the love that man bore for his child was undeniable and tender in a way few men had the courage to – but he doesn’t think they’re any kind of men... They’re on the fringes; never the norm, so maybe the outlaw lifestyle suited him and he should have thought of it earlier than Arthur collapsing in front of him.

That felt so long ago... The Molly-house is only a distant memory now, but thinking back he can still remember the smell of fluids in the sheets, the smoke, the alcohol... Some of them made couples and they’d bed each other sometimes. He couldn’t say he didn’t try it once. It was easy, available and not meant to last and they all knew it. _Imagine whoever you want darlin’._ And Sebastian’d lay back and close his eye, but before his eyes was a black screen: nothing. Pleasure could build but there was no one there; and nothing he really desired. Sex was just like alcohol; it numbed the loneliness. For a while.

He doesn’t know how those 5 years passed, but at the same time he wonders how he got the chance not to be stuck there until he would be useless and greying... How’d he got the chance to meet exactly Arthur, ‘cause there’s so much about him he can find no replacement for. Handsome, wounded outlaw and his beloved son, queer on top of it to somehow end up his partner.

Chest squeezed at the thought; of course he could hardly sleep, but eyes were closed. Hand draws tender circles over Arthur’s arm. Maybe it’s giving him tingles that he’s so close other men, but the way they’re all squeezed together for some form of warmth and comfort felt like a permission. And then they all knew he loved Arthur.

“I love you.” Just a whisper; it’s to give him courage. “Buck.” It’s how Arthur called him. Stubborn buck, when he thought that’s something that’d much rather describe the other than himself: hardy, agile, determined and with a certain pride that he wouldn’t admit ‘cause he thought of himself as lowrung and worthless.

Arthur shifted as if he heard and there’s that smile crawling on his lips. Sebastian pulls himself closer and feels the sweet nothings on his tongue, but that may just be too much-

He wasn’t the first awake. Sean and Kieran seemed to have climbed up near the tree, inspecting the horizon for possible ways to take. Flat Iron Lake still glistened in the distance, the morning sun reflecting on its surface.

He reaches for Arthur; he’s there.

“Mornin’ Buck.” He sounded tender, but not worry free.

“Mornin’.” A lean in. “What you thinking about?”

“We should head East now, but on foot-”

“We just need to find the nearest town, and we’ll buy some horses from there.”

“I ain’t been this far south before...”

O’course... Sebastian did neither. He’s been stuck for most of his life in dusty Rhodes and the rest in Saint Denis, but Arthur was a traveler.

“I bet you’ve seen a lot of places you’ve never been to before.” Sebastian muses.

A chuckle, that by now sounds almost familiar: “You ain’t wrong about that.” He takes a deep breath in before he gets up. “We’re gonna get out of this one as well.”

Hand extends to Sebastian; he pulls himself up.

John is the last awake. He’s complaining about the throat bothering him and who can blame him – thou truly, he’s the only one speaking...

Bones don’t get stretched for long before they pick a route, courtesy of Kieran and Sean, who’d tried making heads or tails of this desert they found themselves in, and start marching. And marching they did. The heat wasn’t bad at first, only prickling at skin after about half an hour, but then blood started to run hot, then boil. Sun rules above them like some tyrant king, unrelenting, unforgiving. They don’t know how long they walked in a straight line until their trajectory changes to bee-lining from the shade of one shriveled tree to the next. Stops become more frequent. They ain’t got canteens with them. John’s feeling weak; collapses on the treetrunk after the first few. Arthur’s bent with his hands resting on his knees, urging Isaac to sit down next to John.

They don’t have water with them. Alcohol will make them thirsty and delirious. And he’s starting to doubt the words he said this morning.

They decide to wait for evening; march at night. They throw away good alcohol so that him and Sean could try and look for some water to fetch. Kieran wanted to help, but he’s still got that injured hand – a whole chuck of flesh taken out of it. Well one could argue Sebastian’s been shot in the leg, but he’s hoping they forgot that.

“Here.” He offers Isaac the bottle first and the boy gulps it down without breathing. They found a spring not that far from here.

“Thank it easy, kid or your lungs’s gonna catch fire.” Arthur warns and Isaac takes the bottle from his mouth and passes it to his father. “Thank you.”

Arthur drinks slowly, then hands the rest to Sebastian:

“I had my fill at the spring.”

“Where’s this spring, we need these refilled.”

“I’ll go-”

“You need to rest yourself. Lookit you.” Sebastian takes a breath in at that. “You’re all purple under the eyes; I’ll go.”

“I can come too.” Isaac offers.

The sun ain’t as fierce now as it’s starting to set and golden hues paint the landscape. If it weren’t for their predicament it’d almost be pretty. He does rest; he has to trust Arthur. He trusts him, in fact; he’s a more than capable man.

Father and son return with the bottles filled and they go on their march yet again. Maybe they’re lost souls in purgatory.

Sebastian honestly had no idea what to expect from this ‘Blackwater mission’, Arthur told him it was foolish, and maybe he wasn’t a planner, but he had experience – Sebastian did not, and his optimism faded to dread, then a sort of hollow acceptance as if Death was trailing just slightly behind them on a pale horse waiting for them to drop. One by one...

Dawn comes. All their boots are cream from dust, legs are sore and he can only speak for himself but the one still healing’s stiff and throbbing with pain. They find themselves a tree and fall under it, huddled like the night before. No incentive needed, they fall asleep each as they manage.

When he opens his eyes for a moment to shift his position he sees Sean completely fallen over in Kieran’s lap and John more or less leaning against him. Isaac is clinging to Arthur and the man’s body looks so still it feels lifeless. In his exhaustion fueled daze he thinks of something he shouldn’t and heart squeezes in his chest. He jerks with eyes fully open.

They’re breathing...

He doesn’t remember when he falls back asleep; his eyelids are always heavy and the hunger in his stomach keeps growling.

Flies wake him up in the afternoon; it smells like corpse.

He jolts awake again:

“_Jesus!_” John’s thrown off and goes to cover his face before he falls to lean on something else.

Sebastian quickly rushes to his feet; he’s shaking. He can’t help but smell his clothes: just sweat, pungent, disgusting, but it’s just sweat. He turns to the rest. They’re all slowly waking; Isaac’s lifting his head in confusion.

Arthur’s eyes are closed, his breathing rapid, precipitated.

John catches him staring and shoves the man awake. Wind’s knocked out of him as he lands on one arm and starts coughing lightly.

That glare Arthur gives is tired.

“Maybe we should be eating something...” Kieran prompts.

They got some cans left. They chow them down at lightning speed, but Sean doesn’t look too fresh after all that food taken on an empty stomach that fast.

And they start crawling again. Tonight there’s no moon. Arthur’s last, Sean first.

The desert keeps on going and Flat Iron Lake’s left the view.

Tree to tree their journey takes them, further inland. The wind is harsher there; and maybe he’s going delirious thinking this is feeling like a descend to Hell. He’s losing; they’re all losing. They’re all losing because he’s a bad luck charm; karma’s best contender for misfortune. Panic boils through his system, steps drag, stumble, and he feels his lungs fill up with dust.

What the fuck is this dread? Does it belong to him? Why? Why now all of a sudden, just because one job went bad – Oh no and he’s reminded of Dutch now. He’s an outlaw now, ain’t he?... He’s an outlaw; he ain’t the man he was, but what man was he to begin with. What man was he supposed to be or become if it weren’t for one fateful encounter.

Should he owe everything to Arthur?... That ain’t how things work. He’s-

He’s lost.

And he’s dragging Arthur in with him and it’s smelling like death-

He eats dust falling on his face. The entire line of people stop to gawk. Isaac rushes to his side first to help him up; Arthur follows.

“I’m fine...” he spits dirt out, pushes himself up only to find himself wanting to fall back in Arthur’s arms. He only gives the man a look; he probably looks pitiful now, wiping wet sand from his lips. It crunches between his teeth.

“C’mon up.” Arthur offers him a hand and heaves as he strung Sebastian up. “Walk with me...”

Sean starts walking again, and his hand slips into the other’s and squeezes it tight. The march goes on; Isaac in front between them, and the two of them at the rear, arms dangling from each other as they walked.

He didn’t notice at first, Arthur’s palm’s burning-

“Arthur...”

He knows: “It’s just the heat. Heatstroke...”

And the bulletwound... His leg won’t give him peace, he can’t imagine how Arthur’s repeatedly abused shoulder would feel like... And he wants to believe him, although deep within himself he knows the man is lying; he’s alright for everyone else’s sake – he-

“I know you.”

Arthur’s hand squeezes his own hard; Sebastian reciprocates the gesture:

“It ain’t gonna get much worse. I _promise._”

Isaac whips his head around:

“Don’t you worry ‘bout that, Isaac.”

“Don’t lie to me. Not now.”

“I ain’t trying to lie...” Arthur speaks. “I’m trying to keep hopeful.”

“Okay...” the boy says, but ain’t in the least hopeful...

They end their march near sunrise; they found a road. If they kept to it they might just reach some form of civilization. But rest came first.

It was definitely fever when Arthur rested his head on Sebastian’s shoulder; even his breath came out hot. Isaac curled next to them.

And throughout the day it got worse- bouts of cough started up, wheezing.

“Are you sleeping?” Sebastian whispers to him.

“No...”

“We’re getting you to the nearest docto-”

Arthur holds him firm: “At night...”

But he can’t watch him like this; not with the thoughts he’s been having lately. He swipes a few strands of hair out of Arthur’s face and the man leans into the touch like he’s been starved.

“We can’t let the kid get sick...” Arthur says, trying to suppress another cough.

A kiss to the temple: “Never, Buck.”

He feels Arthur’s cheeks rise against his clothes: “I like it when you call me that...”

Well he can’t deny that’s a truly special pet name: “Me too...”

A moment’s silence. Breaths rise and fall in sync after a short while. Eyes close and he adjusts his position against the tree, arm drawing Arthur closer in; in turn the man climbs a leg over his own; comfortable. They need as much rest as they can get.

And it was obvious they weren’t going to get much of it...

Arthur startles Isaac awake with his coughing, and the boy goes to shake him awake but there ain’t no use: man’s gotta cough a lung out first.

Sebastian strings himself and the man up with a heave: “We’re getting you to a doctor-”

John, Sean, Kieran were all awake by the time as well staring at the pair of them as if their friend’s been given a death sentence. And maybe that was correct but he ain’t letting Arthur lose the fight just yet.

The walk is painful; Arthur is heavy in his arms and his shot leg is screaming with every movement. They were allowed no rest, but he’s starting to understand that it ain’t like them to just give up. They are stubborn men. And they have a son to look after.

Isaac walked first behind them; the rest followed.

Then Isaac walked ahead.

It was past midday at this point, the heat was slowly simmering down, but it wasn’t enough for them; bodies have been pushed quite beyond what they could; they haven’t eaten, got any good rest or significant break. And now... Isaac’s walk was brisk; stiff from all the sore muscles, but it felt like he was putting all the energy he had left into this, as if there truly was a town just near of here.

But there wasn’t.

They walked, and walked some more; Arthur took to his own legs, dragging them through the dust, one hand into his own. And Isaac was still ahead, the faintest sniff escaped him sometimes, but the boy wouldn’t turn when his father called out to him. And then they walked some more.

Heat produced sound at this point. Sebastian couldn’t feel his leg; it grew completely numb with pain. And Arthur looked worse: hair drenched in his own sweat, skin drained of color, while his cheeks and nose reddened to a concerning color. And still man had the strength to keep up the pace, following behind Isaac intently, loyally.

The world started to grow dim – and they kept on walking. The boy kept on walking ahead, stiff, limping from exhaustion, and only the boy existed outside themselves. John, Kieran, Sean faded to background noise. Arthur’s huffing, his own pain and Isaac’s silhouette became all that he knew, besides the inertia of moving his feet.

Any moment now, he feels the pale rider’s going to swoop in and mercifully depart them. Two queer men, their son and the fortune they never got to taste. What’s he come to; it’s almost beautiful in its tragedy.

He’s already convinced himself the sound of hooves is that impending doom – but it’s merely another traveler-

Isaac seems to spring to life the moment the man comes into view; moves to stand directly in front of the rider.

“Isaac-” Father’s voice is lacking a certain sternness.

“Can I buy your horse, mister?” Isaac sounds terribly polite for how his voice was shaking.

“No. Get away from here, _brat-_”

Man’s eyes peel open when the boy pulls out his revolver, the other hand swooping in to grab the reins.

“I’ll buy your horse, mister. 100 dollars.”

“Isa-” but John steps in, his own gun raised:

“Hand the boy the horse, it ain’t worth your life.”

Man slowly raises his hands and dismounts. Isaac reaches in his pockets and hands the man the promised money.

“Now get going!” John’s tone still retained its broken highpitched squeal. Traveler stands there for a moment then the feller books it.

Arthur takes from his side:

“The hell is wrong with you-”

“You need a horse. _You’re sick!_” Son defends his choice.

“You ain’t no outlaw! I ain’t raised you an outlaw-”

“_What other choice did I have!? Did **we **have!_”

Arthur’s jaws clench shut followed by a deep inhale, and silence falls.

“Get in the saddle and let’s go... Please...” Isaac begs at this point, tugs Arthur’s sleeve. “Pa...”

Man sits there a while, until his chest vibrates under a cough he’s trying to suppress. Son urges his father one more time and this time he gives in.

Isaac mounts first with the man on the back of the horse.

“Make sure you don’t forget us here.” Sean decides to butt in as Isaac spares one more glance at the people he leaves behind, before spurring the horse maybe a bit too harshly.

He holds his breath watching them take the road into the night. He can feel his heart thumping against his ribs, but the ache is only noticeable when he finally exhales. Head bows and he’s waiting for his thoughts to collect. _They’ll be fine_ he’s trying to tell himself.

And it’s only now that he feels completely exhausted, weak and feeble. Posture slouches and his knee trembles from the pain of having to still stand up.

“Hey... Uhm you ain’t lookin’ that good, Sebastian.” Kieran’s voice is meek as usual.

“Guess I ain’t...” There’s no tree to lean upon so he just ends up laying on the ground with a huff.

“What a mess...” John utters, skipping a stone out of frustration.

“Guess it could have gone worse.” Sean argues, flopping down beside Sebastian. “And maybe our luck’s turning.”

Silence.

Then John’s voice pitches in again: “I... wonder if Jack’s gonna end up like that...”

“Stickin’ up for you? No chance.” Sean mocks.

“Hey-”

“Let the man talk.” Sebastian grunts; it felt like all John was being taken for was a buffoon with half a brain, even in his most sincere moments.

He’s almost taken aback: “Thank you, Sebastian...”

“Ain’t... always a straightforward way of being a father...” Sebastian admits.

“How can I know? All I ever saw was Arthur and his kid. He was there the day I joined, you know. A toddler running around this massive man in his 20’s that had no fucking clue how to deal with me _and_ him at the same time.” John cracks a faint smile. “I probably should have turned out much better... I ain’t even fully knowin’ what I was trying to prove. I ain’t Arthur. I ain’t some golden boy, some father of the year or the other...”

“But you love the kid, don’t you?”

“Of course! I mean... It’s still weird thinking he’s mine. But he’s five already... But he’s got everyone else looking out for him! I ain’t though he’d be needing _me._” Then, after one short pause, John’s expression sours, lips curling in on themselves: “Arthur ain’t really got someone like that did he?... Like, he raised that boy alone, before the gang really got that big-... Shit.” Man rubs his chin.

“It ain’t your fault.” Sebastian tries his best to be reassuring.

“At this point who even knows whose fault it is...”

Silence again; he doesn’t know how to reply to that; he’s empty of any good words and he really ain’t the man to be giving advice...

“You know,” John speaks up again. “You ain’t a bad man, Sebastian.”

A few blinks; it takes him a while to answer: “Thank you...”

“I...” A huff. “Arthur’s really thinking about you, you know? He-” John purses his lips.

Eyebrows furrow: “What?”

“I asked him a dumb question once; that’s all...”

They somehow fell asleep when they hear what sounds like a two horse wagon racing their way. Sean is first up, reaching for his gun.

“_It’s Isaac!_” the boy shrieks pulling hard on the reins.

They all exhale, but a whole wagon feels-

“Where’d you get that?” Sebastian dares ask and hopes he’s soft.

“I bought it.” Isaac defends, apologetically this time.

“How is he?...” Kieran’s the first to ask; not because it wasn’t on his mind as well?

“In a hotel room. They don’t have a doctor in town. Said we gotta head to Callport, then take a boat to Saint Denis.”

“Jesus...”

“We gotta-” Isaac sighs as if trying to hold something in. “I’m so sorry. Seb...”

Sebastian climbs up next to him on the driver’s seat, picks the reins and tries a smile.

Isaac gives him directions as he drives, but otherwise keeps the conversation quiet. In about half an hour they find themselves in a small town that, with its dusty roads and dried up buildings, reminded him of Rhodes.

The hotel wasn’t fancy: more or less crumbling down; stairs creaking under his boots. The room was sparse and they find Arthur sitting on the side of the bed, leaning over his knees, propped in his elbows. Head was low and hair looked sticky. Isaac wasted no time sitting beside his father, a hand rubbing between his shoulders after an awkward stutter.

Arthur bends his head towards his chest further as he coughs.

Sebastian limps to join them; the rest of the posse flooding in after him.

“So, uh... what now?” Kieran had enough confidence to speak up.

John pinned his arms on his hips, Sean scratched his chin; so it was up to them... And he doesn’t have the strength to ask anything of Arthur, but he can’t find it in himself to say anything either – think of anything either. He’s feeling sore and numb and simply wants to revel in the company of those he holds dear and he so wants to cling to this feeling of home he’s barely gained an appreciation for.

“Guess we need rest for tonight.” Arthur speaks up. “And tomorrow we head out...”

“In that case we better get ourselves some provisions; everythin’ we had was on them horses.” Sean says. “Isaac would you come with me?”

“Let the kid rest.” John intervened.

“No, I want to come...” Arthur’s son knew very well what people intended.

“I’m coming too.” Said Kieran.

“Guess I’ll be joining then...” John got the hint; the rest were already heading out. “Rest up, a’right, Arthur?”

Man just scoffs and the moment John turns his back Sebastian presses his head onto Arthur’s shoulder, with one hand blindly finding the other’s. And Arthur softens under touch; covers his mouth when another cough comes.

“Hang in there, cowboy...” he finds himself saying.

“Don’t intend on dying just yet.” Arthur’s conviction strengthened him, strengthened the grip he had on his hand.

“I fear of getting lost again.”

“I ain’t letting you.” Another cough.

“Can’t let you bear all that alone either.”

“I know... Just... what am I supposed to do? There ain’t no stopping-” Thumbs rub over Arthur’s palm in gentle, calm strokes. “Hosea died...” Arthur confesses, leaning his head further onto his own. “He said he’s gonna take care of us. All of us.”

“You ain’t him to take that responsibility.”

“They’re my _family_, Sebastian.”

“I know...” He tried to be comforting, but words don’t quite help him today do they... “And you surely ain’t alone.” Head nudges itself further into Arthur. “Never alone.”

Arthur swings himself around, catching Sebastian in a secure embrace and holding the other up to his chest. He straddles the man’s lap and his arms find themselves on Arthur’s back. Tight; it’s a pleasant reassuring pressure; he can feel his heart drum against his chest.

“Neither are you.” Arthur utters, avoiding pressing his face to Sebastian’s; man’s breathing is wheezed and heavy.

There’s little hope for them, but they can’t just stop...

They have somehow fallen asleep, limbs tangled and unwilling to let go of one another, but Arthur’s convulsive cough jerk him awake. His skin is sticky from sweat and skin burning from fever. He doesn’t seem awake.

But Isaac was. Boy was looking at the way his father suffered from a rag he set for himself at the foot of the shoddy bet: two eyes peering over the thin metal frame, watching in horror. The man who raised him grew weaker and weaker under his eyes, and under Sebastian’s a well; he’s seen this man on the brink of death a couple of times now already.

The cough grows increasingly violent, man having trouble getting any air in. He doesn’t know how he fumbled, but Sebastian tried his best to prop the man in a sitting position, waiting for the bout to pass.

Arthur was fully awake at this point, caught Isaac looking at them.

“You-... Should eat something, Pa.”

“Yeah...” Arthur struggles to get a grip on his posture, leans over the side of the bed; staggers up. Sebastian finds himself following suit. “Did you get anything?”

“Yeah. John and Sean are still downstairs at the saloon.” Isaac stands up. “Do... you want me to come with you?”

“Always, kid.”

The boy follows intently, sticking close to Arthur as if there was something he wants to atone for. And Arthur ain’t dumb enough not to notice the changed demeanor of his son:

“You okay there, Isaac?”

“... How are you feeling?”

Now, with an arm outstretched Arthur waits for his son to descend in front of him, hand finding its way on the boy’s back.

“Better.” It’s a lie; Sebastian knows. “A bed and some proper sleep is all this ol’ man was needin’.”

Boy squints his eyes, but bows his head and shakes it.

“Don’t... lie to me, Pa.”

Arthur stops and puts both hands on Isaac’s shoulders.

“Just... don’t lie to me, okay? You’re _all I have-_” Boy barely stifles a sob. “Just tell me what I can do- I _can help. Let me help-_” Arthur pulls the boy to his chest, shushing and Isaac clings to the man’s clothing: “Let me help...”

But not even Sebastian knew how to help and he’s afraid Arthur ain’t knowing either...

The hug don’t last the chatter from downstairs forces the men apart; it ain’t private and they ain’t regular. He descends last, Isaac by his side, both of them seemingly of the same mind, taking care their Arthur don’t stumble.

The moment they’re downstairs, John, Sean and Kieran turn their heads their way. Sean lifts a glass: “English!” And once they’ve made their way to the table he cheers: “Ye’r finally awake!”

“Feelin’ any better?” Kieran chimes in, leaning over the table, but Isaac seems discomforted by the question. “I-I ain’t meaning to say you-”

Arthur waves a hand: “Peachy. Seen much worse.” Man looks over at John, then back at everyone else: “You all ‘kay?”

“Sure! Asked ‘round town for some routes, fastest way back to Saint Denis.” Sean explains. “Said there’s a bigger town called Callport ‘bout a day or two from here. And we should be able to take a boat ‘cross the Lannahachee from there.”

“And we bought provisions.” John mentions, before averting his gaze-

“Tell’em John! Tell‘em what happened.”

The man groans at that: “_Jim!_ Name’s Jim Millston.”

“You heard that lads, _Millston._”

“Shut _up!_”

But that had Arthur chuckling. And in the mids of this, Sebastian didn’t pay attention that the boy took off and ordered them food.

“Now tell’em what Kieran said when asked ‘bout his name.” Sean kept on.

“Not this again...” Kieran commented. “What was I s‘possed to say!?”

“Kieran Duffy.” John said almost irritated. “They ain’t knowing _you_.”

“And what did he say?” Arthur’s looking cheered up by all this.

“Ugh- Said I ain’t got any.” Kieran finally caved in. “Said my parents died before they could give me one.”

Arthur chuckles: “Maybe you’d make a good dime novelist.”

“Nah, I’m a horse boy, that’s all.”

Isaac places them two plates of food and Arthur thanks, then asks the kid to take a seat beside him. He wastes no time taking a bite, showing his son appreciation for the gesture. He can still hear the subtle coughs that come with the first few bites.

The rest of the dinner is eaten in silence; the food doesn’t taste good, nor bad; it’s bland, the meat is dry and stringy and the porridge sticks to the corners of his mouth. But he downs it with the help of a pint of beer. Arthur gulps his drink in one go.

“So we got a wagon...” Arthur starts and he ain’t exactly content with the predicament he’s just been put in without his choice. Sebastian liked to think he knew the man enough to know he’d protest vulnerability ‘cause it’s the face of helplessness – and it ain’t like Sebastian ain’t just the same in that regard. “We can already leave for Callport. It ain’t like we got much with us.”

“I don’t think so.” John’s the first to protest.

“_Why?_”

“ ‘cause you’re... Well...”

“The sooner we get back to camp the better.”

It’s a logic he can’t argue with.

“You ain’t fully rested yet-”

“ ‘course I ain’t.” Arthur’s struggling to raise his voice and at the same time fighting to keep the conversation civil. He takes a look at his son: “We ain’t knowin’ how this is gonna go...” Fear starts to glisten in the boy’s eyes and Sebastian puts a hand on him.

“He needs a doctor that’s all.” He intervenes, trying to steady it; not his best suit thou.

“Is it too much to wait for tomorrow?” Isaac asks.

“We could get some more supplies, ask the locals about things.” Kieran chimes in. “We got _some_ food. A-And I can probably ask around for some cough medicine.”

Arthur just pursed his lips; a stifled cough:

“I need to stretch my legs...”

Isaac follows in an instant; Sebastian looks at the lot of them, all with sour faces, bows his head and excuses himself as if they were some strangers...

Outside Arthur’s leaned on the wall with his son next to him, trying his best not to worry the boy further. It was all so entirely messy, dissonant, trying to keep up with a reality that no longer existed if ever. They didn’t know what to do – they don’t. Stuck and they keep pushing, hoping the wall will break and reveal some hope after it all, but even that seemed like some lofty ideal, dangled before them, a dancing shadow on the wall. It’s not real.

“I ain’t dead. Or dying.” Arthur sighs and starts walking. “Just caught something when I dragged Marston out of the water. I’ll live through it.”

“Don’t expect anything less from you.” Sebastian says and finally there’s a smile.

“I’m just worried.” Isaac counters, trotting up between them. “There’s been a lot lately... Hosea-”

“I miss him too, kid...” Arthur confesses. “But I ain’t letting no one get there again.”

“Does that include you, thou?” Isaac wasn’t convinced; fear ran deep.

“I really do hope so.”

“We’re trying our best.” Sebastian adds.

“And I ain’t intending on leaving you alone like this.” Arthur stresses the words. “Both o’ you.” A sigh: “But enough talk ‘bout all that. I just need to feel a lil’ bit human again, not like some medical example.”

Putting it like that really gave a sense of perspective about the ordeal; Arthur who seemed to have held up this gang for many years looked about to crumble now, and it ain’t that worry ain’t natural, but how’s someone whose only worth seemed to be his usefulness supposed to feel when they all see him become fragile. That sentiment there’s one that he’s very familiar with: one thing and that one thing is me, all of me. Sebastian liked men, and he only allowed himself to be that for five entire years and it never crossed his mind that he could just saddle up and ride out west; become a cowboy and be himself, queer and all... He’s still feeling like a shell, and everything else like some reality he ain’t truly a part of.

But he got no choice but to fight.

Hand in hand; it’s real, and it ain’t slipping through, feverish and sweaty as that other palm felt on his.

Isaac’s been doing thinking this entire time: “Well I saw an interesting place if you want to check it out. Some abandoned ranch house not far from the town in a big corn field.”

“Lead the way then.”

The stalks could be seen from the edge of town; it was a little ways away from there; the lights of the houses barely touching the field. Wind whistled through making it resemble something out of a ghost story. It’s a wonder that the lantern he pulls out is still working after having been soaked through that night, then left unused for the next couple of days.

He takes on ahead; and he probably shouldn’t admit that his hand started to shake lightly. It felt more and more like something out of a nightmare of his, but Isaac finds his way right beside him. There was something daring in that boy’s eyes, and that might just give him some courage too.

There’s nothing in the cornfield. The house is indeed empty and beside being dusty to the point that it crunched under their boots it was clean.

“Oh?” Isaac darts from his side and proceeds to pick up a guitar that was lying in the corner. “Wished I asked Javier how to teach me to play one.” He tries a strum.

Sebastian puts the lantern down and Arthur finds his place on the edge of the bed; it creaks.

“I used to know how to play one he says.” He says.

“Really?” Boy lights up and hands him the instrument. “Think you can try and play something?”

“I can’t promise anything.”

Isaac flops next to his father: “Doesn’t matter; it’s still music.”

_Obliged._ Sebastian sits down, tries finding a comfortable pose; lips quirk as he’s trying to remember a song. Nothing. Crickets chirp outside. Still nothing. A deep inhale. Okay. He takes it from the gravest note to the highest, playing one by one then a strum down. That sounded like a tune. He repeats it a few times, eyes glued to the chords before he lifts them up.

Arthur’s eyes then; he can’t help not smiling. They ain’t been that bright or tender in quite a while; he’s starting to understand the meaning of tonight: they gotta be sweet to take away some of the bitterness that’s drenched them. Sebastian keeps on strumming.

Isaac lays his head down, closes his eyes: “It’s just like when we first met. The church remember?”

“Mhm...”

“I didn’t get it... but... Pa?” Arthur turns to look. “Did you always know?”

“I ain’t the right one to be asking these questions.” Arthur chuckles, turns into a cough at the end. “I’m a fool all things considered.”

“Well you ain’t the _biggest fool._” Sebastian has to laugh; that felt like a jab at John honestly. “But did you know, Pa?”

“Well...” a scratch of the beard. “I _liked him._ Had a kind face.”

Hand’s placed on the guitar: “Don’t make me want to kiss you.”

“No chance with the kid watchin’.” Arthur jokes, but he’s soon cut by a protesting Isaac.

“I liked you too, Arthur.” He confesses. “You intrigued me.” He lays the guitar down. “And I guess I ain’t done discovering you.”

Arthur bows his head with a smile, while Isaac looks at the both as if this is his first time hearing a love confession.

Morning came without them paying it much notice; they returned to the hotel sure, but after that the order of events blurred. They _were_ tired. And so sun found the bundled in a pile in a single bed. It wasn’t comfortable, his left arm was filled with static, but he’d trade nothing else for the warmth in his chest. He slips away enough to be able to stand up and lean over: a kiss on Arthur’s jaw, just beneath the ear. A few more until he wakes.

“I love you too.” Instead of ‘_good morning_’ because Arthur doesn’t return the kisses; caution is better, and still that manages to make his heart expand between his ribs, pulsate pleasantly.

“I’ll smother you with mine.” Sebastian coos with a thin smile on his lips; one more.

_He loves the man._

Isaac tosses to the other side with a groan. And he loves the family they’ve somehow been blessed to be.

Setting out felt like they were forgetting something, but all they had was on their person and a crate of provisions in the wagon. Sean jumped front, but John drove and the Irishman didn’t quite protest about it yet. But even with this promise of a new day, maybe a new start and new luck, they all still knew Arthur ran the fever.

And the fever only grew; so did the cough. Of course, Isaac took notice of the man’s growing sluggishness, the wheezing of his breath; the boy started remembering how he got treated for influenza when he was younger. Onion syrup, chicken broth and cold rubs with camphor. And sweating, lots of sweating.

“You’d bundle me up in some old furs and tell me to stay put. You gave me your old journals and I’d scribble in them.” Isaac recounts with fondness.

Arthur sighs: “They all got burned down last winter with that fire business up North-”

“Yeah I remember... But I can always try and make new ones. I know I ain’t much of an artist.”

A chuckle, a ruffle of untamed hair: “Always aiming to please, ain’t ya?”

Sean eavesdropped on the conversation: “You know my Ma’ always made me Elderberry blossom tea to get rid of the fever. And willow bark, grinded to powder with a bit of warm milk to slide down the throat.”

“My parents used Turpentine and lard for colds.” Kieran adds. “Rubbed all over the chest. The smell was awful. I would get sick from it.”

“Wasn’t you real young when your parents died?” Arthur asks.

“Yeah. Cholera.”

“Christ! What a way to go.” Sean blurts out.

“Don’t make it worse.” John intervenes.

“Do ya ever let up, Marston?”

“The willow bark might get handy if we ever find any around.” Sebastian rubs the back of his neck in thought; it’s getting really hot.

“Streams should have some form o’ willow growing there.” Kieran says, then rubs his beard. “Wait... Ain’t hair tonic using camphor? You know the one that you rub in ye’r hair.”

Arthur muses, pursing his lips like he always did when he was unsure: “I guess... I still hear the best medicine’s whiskey.”

“That’s for pain, not fevers.” Sebastian counters; Kieran was rummaging his satchel.

Arthur scoffs then John’s voice picks up: “Listen to your man, Morgan.”

“Shut up.” The man in questions calls back only mildly offended. Kieran had pulled out a bottle of something and was looking on the back of it with squinted eyes.

“What you found there?” Sebastian asks.

“Uhh some horse stimulant.” Kieran chews on his lips: “Yup. It has camphor. Reduces pain and cools them down.”

“You want me rubbed in horse stimulant now?” Arthur protests, and a cough builds up behind his words.

“It’s all we got.”

“It ain’t that bad. It’s gonna go down soon enough.”

Wishful thinking.

The cough continued. The heat outside ain’t helping either; they were all sweaty. Kieran was driving now and john climbed in the back, offered them some water to rub on the back of their necks to cool off, but even so Arthur seemed to heave as if he ain’t got air to breath. Skin burned like a heated oil lamp.

“Kieran, can I get that horse stimulant.”

“Sure-”

“Sebastian...” Arthur was on the verge of protesting.

“It’s gonna cool you off.” He don’t wanna say that if he keeps running this fever for the next day he’s probably a goner.

“I don’t like this...”

“I know.” Sebastian didn’t like it much either.

Still, when he asked Arthur to unbutton his shirt, man obliged. John turned his entire body so he wouldn’t look at them. Sebastian poured the oily substance on his right hand and stuck it underneath the other’s shirt; the smell stung in his nostrils; the rubs are hardy, firm, making even a man as big as Arthur sway under the motion.

Hand retracts: “You know. I ain’t talked lot about Lily...” He pours some more stimulant on his hands. “She got sick a lot when she was young.”

“I’m sorry to hear that...” Arthur says; Isaac keeps quiet.

Palms rub together and he motions for Arthur to lean in for him to rub the thing over his chest. Same firm rubs, round the neck and down the burning chest:

“I was so scared for her. But she’s always been a fighter.”

The smell makes Arthur cough, but he keeps up the conversation: “Don’t doubt it.”

“Myra- Her momma would rub her down with this or something like that. The smell hung around the entire house. I could almost taste it.” The moment he’s done he buttons up Arthur’s shirt. “And when she’d be cooking, or sleeping I’d be the one to rub it on. I kept massaging a while after and she fell right back to sleep...” They’re fond memories, even if they sting now.

“You’re a great father-”

“No, I-” he wants to deflect that.

“They ain’t gonna rob you of it no more.” Despite the cough that shook his body Arthur’s arms are steady, containing, his palms like hot irons, especially in this blazing heat; he ends up easing into it.

John peeked over his shoulder at them: “I’m sorry you had to lose a child, Sebastian...”

Head simply bobs down, and Arthur goes cough inside his fist with wet heaves. It’s silence for a while, then the coughs start up again, more feverishly and the man is forced to bed over. Isaac perks up, but stays pinned to the spot- John holds the boy’s shoulders.

Arthur waves a hand: “I’m fine. I’m-” another bout, just as violent. He heaves. “Just the goddamn smell. Christ’alive...” Some more drown out coughs. “I’m fine...” He leans his head against the sides and he’s given an extra coat to let that camphor work its magic.

Sebastian can’t get sleep, not even as night falls. Everyone else seems to have gone numb to the sound of Arthur coughing. It sounds worse than it did before, but at least the temperature is steady. The sick didn’t get much sleep either, heaving and covering his mouth for the next fit.

Man looks at his hand, then up at Sebastian. Heart stings, and when he gets to look at what the cough left behind it sinks. Blood...

They wasted too much time...


	17. Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur tries to recover from his illness while waiting for Dutch to return, if he returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Long time no see, it's been some uncertain times and I'm afraid this chapter has a subject that hits close to home given the current global situation, which is part of the reason why I hesitated to write it. Still I hope you can all enjoy and thank you so much for the patience!

He ain’t missed Saint Denis. He ain’t missed civilization either, but when things get dire cities do have their perks.

And everyone’s highest priority was getting Arthur to a doctor; he ain’t opposed, ‘cause there’s one single thought plaguing his mind: _for Isaac put shame and pride aside and live._ He can’t bear the thought of leaving his son alone or the thought of him having to live on without his father, like he did before him, and all other members of the gang did. Dying fathers made the worst of outlaws it seemed...

Besides it’s one awful way to go. Everyone he holds dear watching him waste away to illness... He locked those memories away, but his momma died of illness. He ain’t remembering exactly what it was, but it had to do with lungs; seems to be running in the family. He watched her die and missed her every day. She left him with that degenerate of a father-

He’d have almost forgotten where he was, all dazed up and flimsy on his feet if the doctor wouldn’t have asked him to do such and such. Only Isaac’s with him there, stern look on that boy’s face, scrunched up as if to show strength, to stop tears from welling up when they’d come with the verdict. And the verdict’s a bad case of pneumonia, hence the blood; doctor might have just said it were tuberculosis if it weren’t for the consistent high fever. But in this case with proper treatment and enough rest he might just get to see it through. And smoking would be ill-advised. Though he can only wonder if he’d even get the time to rest...

He should truly be giving that ring to Sebastian, in case worst comes to pass...

And:

“Sean. Kieran. John. You get all the money you need and you go.” Arthur says the moment he walks out the building.

“The Hell ya talkin’ about, English?”

“This thing’s done. You get your money; John, you and your family, and you get the Hell out of here.”

“So you mean to tell me ya dragged us through all that just to send us off.”

He doesn’t have the strength to argue: “You knew how this was gonna end. What did you think those money was for...”

“Tahiti maybe.” Comes from John in a passive aggressive voice.

A scoff.

“Listen, Arthur. A rancher ain’t how life’s gonna end up for me.” Sean continues. “Besides I tied myself up with’you’all so I gotta see it through.”

They ain’t gonna make it if they stick around and his own livelihood is precarious at best so he ain’t certain he can even try to get them all out of this damn mess they seems to be digging ever deeper in. Sean’s young and snappy; good at making something of himself no matter what, but John. John ain’t alone to try the whole lone wolf deal – he’s got a goddamn family and no matter how many times he said it, it never felt like he listened.

And most of all he told John that if they got the money and made it back they’d be saying goodbye. Now’s the time and they can’t look back-

But they all stuck around like ghosts to their grave; truth be told he ain’t feeling much alive either, and whatever force kept all the people loyal to Dutch, kept on doing so. Even himself; he should have left long ago, he should have left many times. And he kept coming back.

It’s still home. And those people are innocent – well, some of them, and at least those that weren’t surely were ignorant of the mess this blind loyalty’s dragged them into. Be loyal... Loyal to an idea that don’t work no more, loyal to a lifestyle he got no choice but to follow – and all of them were just the same. The endgoal always was get the money so they could get out, and now that they’re here- well... it ain’t coming from the hand of their prophesized Mesiah...

The ride back to Lakay made a pit grow in his guts: how does he explain all this, would they even listen?...

The welcome is warm; far warmer than he would have expected. Abigail jumps ‘round his neck, then clings to John like she ain’t ever saw him. Mary-Beth trots straight up to Kieran, then to tightly hug Sean and all of’em. Everyone gathers to hug Isaac, pat him, congratulate him, comfort and compliment – he was one damn brave kid that’s for sure. He ain’t looking no more like the kid he was just a few months ago; it’s almost July. They’re dusty, dirty, sweaty and Arthur’s reeking of camphor and medicine. They take notice right away; and the fever’s hard to miss.

Smiles fade and people go quiet. And there’s the cough to confirm their suspicions.

A deep inhale; he gotta take advantage of this attention and silence:

“We got the money. All our money. And it’s plenty, for all o’ you to go out and make a life for yourselves.”

They look at him as if they don’t understand, as if they forgot. Molly’s glaring from under thin eyebrows. But what can he say to them... What can he tell to get these people away from the threat of getting shot to death just like Hosea was barely a week ago. Above everything he’s afraid that they’ll suffer something they don’t deserve, all after having been led on a merry chase of some paradise that Dutch promised them long time ago.

“You look like you’re in need of rest Mister Morgan.” Miss Grimshaw breaks the silence.

He succumbs: “Yeah...” So they don’t want to even touch up on it, not publicly like this it seems... Subject’s changed; he remembers: “How’s Charles?”

Sadie is the one to bring him up to date with everything: Charles well befriended the Indians, who offered to help him and the gang for all that they offered them, but the man refused. He spent quite some time there after he recovered somewhat. She said that Swanson took it hard, threw out his ‘Bible’, with the morphine that was inside it, and was now still dealing with the withdrawal, spastically doing chores around camp to help his nerves. Molly and Karen became good friends in the meantime as well, and even better friends with the bottle. Christ, how wrong this all went...

He wasn’t allowed to do anything more; Isaac fought for that and Arthur got more or less confined to one room: the single place with a proper bed there at Lakay.

Charles came back a while later that day; the news made him silent. He looked good, better than he was before, he shaved the sides of his head and he didn’t know what spurred him on that it felt like a sign of grieving. Of course, Charles got adamant about helping, even if Arthur’d have refused it, but the way he’s got both Sebastian and his son making it a bigger deal than he would have liked it to be he couldn’t say no.

And it’s been camphor baths for him; he hated them, the goddamn smell made him cough up whatever remaining lungs he had. Sebastian’s hands were always cold on his back, but at least they were a relief from the heat. It wouldn’t let up... And their moments ended up quiet, drenched in that smell, both o’em locked in whatever thoughts they had. Whenever he got the time he’d tell him small sweet nothings, some dread looming over him. He wanted to reach for the satchel; he wanted to-

Sebastian would only lay his head on his shoulders, kiss his neck from behind, sweeping away soiled hair and hold him. He’d cough from that camphor too then and it was the ugliest of sounds. He wouldn’t let go though, and Arthur didn’t want him to; his body was cool.

He remembered his parents... Lyle was a vile man and back then he thought he didn’t try enough, but he’d bring home money, and each day it was quieter, each day his frown grew deeper and his mother’s face paler. Until it stopped...

Isaac tried to keep him distracted; in good spirits. He even sat down and drew for the first time in a long while; maybe it was old age catching up to him but he can’t say he didn’t almost bud tears afterwards. That kid was a treasure, always had been and Arthur felt like he somehow wronged him being so harsh while they was away. He could try his best all he wanted, he could still hate the image of Isaac trying to rob a feller of his horse like some low-rung criminal, but he couldn’t change the fact that it happened, and that’s who his son ended up being.

He’s guessing it’s like trying to tame a wild animal; they might listen to you for a while, but when instincts run high they’ll act upon them. That he can never change, and they can never change and the boy’s an outlaw. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

It’s been a few days now, Kieran walks into his room with an armful of things. He sets a kettle on the nightstand and a few little bottles besides it; hands Arthur a tin cup.

“Here, you drink this.”

It smelled strong, prickling his nostrils.

“What is this?” Arthur can’t help ask.

“Boiling water with ginger in it.” Kieran replies for once not stuttering over his words. “I ended up in the flea market in Saint Denis and some Chinese family told me to grate ginger into boiling water. Paid quite a lot for it.”

He takes a sip, the acidic taste almost burns his tongue. Of course a cough ensues afterwards.

“I’ve also managed to brew some burdock root and ginseng and yarrow. Burdock root helps with the fever and the other helps give ya strength.” Kieran explains. “Talked a lot with Strauss ‘bout this one and he said he might go looking for syringes if he gets to.”

“Don’t want no morphine...”

“I-I know, maybe there’s something else there-”

“And you need to get out, boy.”

“W-what? What you mean-”

“Get the money and go.” A cough bubbles up. “I ain’t got long-” he reaches for the satchel and takes out a wad of cash and hands it over. “You can do a whole lot more with your life. Look at this. Go be a doctor or something-”

Kieran’s face scrunches up: “You hear yourself talkin’, Arthur?” He paces away. “We ain’t all fightin’ so you can just die. Isaac? Sebastian?-”

“Facts ain’t changing!-” Arthur cuts sternly. “I could still die and then all that would have been for nothing anyway. Please take the money-”

Kieran looks at him as if Arthur’s called him an O’Driscoll again, or worse tied him to a tree: “You drink that tea now.”

A sigh as he leaves. Sure... he’ll drink the goddamn tea.

And fever ain’t seeming to go down the next couple of days either. Abigail came in with Mary-Beth and Tilly and the Domino game, asked him to play if he got so much free time on his hands, how could he say no. Isaac found his way onto the bed next to him:

“You wanna play in my stead?”

“No I wanna see your ass get kicked.” Isaac tries to maintain a playful tone.

“Just count on me, Isaac.” Abigail cheers.

“With you two conspiring against me? No doubt.”

The game’s on, and as usual he’s only a few points away from Abigail’s top score, second comes of course Tilly and Mary-Beth who was getting ever so slightly frustrated. She lost the first round and Isaac moved to play in her stead.

The new round starts:

“So what’you all been up to lately?” Arthur speaks up now that the atmosphere feels loose enough; he has to try again. At least the women. John.

“Nothing much.” Tilly says. “Being all cooped up here waiting for-”

“You got a choice not to wait.”

Isaac, whose turn it was, stops mid-way through placing the piece on the table; he was about to score 10 points. Everyone looks up at him.

“I know Dutch ain’t here.” Arthur starts. “He might never be. It’s why I want’you all to get out. We got the money-“ A cough shakes him up mid sentence. “Dutch said that was all we was needin’, and the way things seem to have ended...” Everyone was quiet, having bowed their heads now. “Hosea promised to get all of us out...”

“Hosea ain’t here no mo-” Mary-Beth stops to sigh as it seems to dawn on her that duty of getting them all out, in Dutch’s absence, fell on Arthur’s shoulders.

“We’ll think about it, Arthur.” Abigail says, placing the next tile.

“You better talk that out with John.” He says and she turns to him, eyes glinting with some form of fierceness he rarely saw.

“You ain’t got a thing to worry about...”

It’s his turn. He places down whatever card fit without caring about the score no longer. Another bout of coughing rocks him. His chest is on fire, with each exhale, the next inhale got harder and more painful-

“ ‘scuse me-” Coughs keep on coming and Isaac rushes to his side with a hand placed between his shoulder blades.

It subsides after an awful lot of minutes where all he tried to do was comfort Isaac somehow, but Arthur’s left heaving, swallowing all the mucus that gathered in the back of his throat, and wiping away the tears he couldn’t stop from breaking.

“Maybe it’s better we call off the game-” Isaac tries to mother him.

“And let Abigail win just like that?” Residual coughs pepper speech. “No chance.” He tries to give the boy a smile. The game’s all they had to keep it light.

Abigail let him win in the end. And that felt hollow as ever, at least in the moment, as if all he was is feeble, weak, sick; it took him the whole remainder of the day to process that. He’s guessing people just don’t want him dead and that’s something he never really thought about before...

Arthur Morgan shouldn’t’ave been important.

The fever keeps up another day, but by the second morning it’s finally started to subside, even though he’s still feeling warmer than usual, especially the palms. That goddamn camphor smell was etched into the walls and the more he stayed in there, the fog of sickness slowly lifting off his consciousness, the more he felt like needing a bath.

He keeps coughing though, but strength starts to return slowly and he manages to wander outside for the first time in what must have been more than a week. He finds himself leaning onto a wall just outside; the sunlight is hard on his eyes for now. And People bid him good day with a big smile this time. And they told him that if it weren’t for Sebastian they might not be as good off as they were; he took the responsibility of seeing that everyone and everything was in order: food, water, blankets, supplies, _medicine_.

And when Arthur at last sees his face again, Sebastian’s walking into camp with a whole boar on his shoulders and Isaac in tow with some egrets. Gazes meet and Arthur finds him give a subtle smile on thin lips. And he looked tired, like he aged, with his hair just a bit longer, sticking to a sweaty forehead. And still a finer man you never did see.

To say that man dropped everything and that Arthur put all his strength into moving to come meet him wouldn’t be telling the whole story. He smiled like he didn’t do in a long while: “Been out hunting?” Casual, as if nothing’s changed in the meantime.

Sebastian catches his hands, pressing rough fingertips into his palm, checking for temperature: “How’re you feeling?”

“Better.” He squeezes those palms into his own. He’s only not seen him since yesterday, but it’s been so long since Arthur looked at him in sunlight, and only now did it somehow feel genuine. And just the same goes for his son. Arthur ruffles the boy’s hair and if he had more strength and had Isaac been younger he would have lifted him into his arms. He missed them. He missed them so goddamn much emotion might just take him over and he might end up teary eyed.

“You haven’t been eating well.” Isaac’s smile turns to a deep frown. “I got us some egrets; Pearson can cook them for you- And we can sell the plumes and get-”

Arthur stops him with a hand on his shoulder. He feels thin, but weight can be put back on; he just needs to feel normal:

“Found a seller for this kind of stuff?” Arthur asks.

Isaac bites his lips and after a sigh: “Yeah. There’s a man, Algernon Wasp, on the outskirts of Saint Denis.”

“Good. You’ve done real well, kid-” Another cough; he ahems it away. But there’s still things that need to be talked about. “Now, I know you two just came back from a trip but how’bout we go for a lil’ ride? Just us.”

Isaac’s eyes grow big, he looks at Sebastian then dashes to lay the birds off to Pearson; Sebastian goes to set the boar aside as well. His shirt is bloody, maybe it won’t be such a bad idea to get a bath together; the lake ain’t far and it’s the middle of summer in the hottest state of America.

It’s been so long since he’s seen Ghost; she cranes her neck and nickers more or less letting it fall right into his arms:

“Shshsh, girl- Yeah-” It’s heavy but she’s about to get all the scratched behind her ears that she missed this entire time. He’s feeling guilty now, not being able to take care of one of his best friends. “Good girl.” He pats her neck rigorously, while with the other hand searching for that bunch of peppermints he bought a long while ago. They’re long since melted now, but that don’t stop her from munching on them with apparent glee.

Mounting up though came with a heave, but getting back in the saddle after so long felt somewhat like a return home.

He’s soon joined by the men he knew best, at the same time the best men he knew. Trotting puts his bones in motion in an almost painful way; it’s really been a while...

The road from Lakay is muddy with the sound of the bayou covering almost anything else, and that’s when Sebastian decides to speak:

“Something on your mind, Arthur?”

A smile there: “Ain’t you knowing me best?” Arthur swats at his neck; he’s sweating profusely again, feeling hot, but he’s guessing that’s just the heat. “Yeah. I’m worried that I chose the wrong way. We got the money now but the gang don’t seem too keen on taking it, and if we ain’t going soon it’s-” a sharp inhale. “Well...”

“You talked it with Abigail in person. Maybe it’s worth a try with everyone?” Isaac tosses his opinion, and Arthur can’t say he ain’t proud of that kid, he’s smart as anything. Must’ave gotten it from his mother...

“I’ll try...”Arthur sighs, then adds: “Kieran sure ain’t wanting to leave.”

“You saved his life.” Sebastian notes. “Maybe that’s why.”

“By all accounts he saved my life first.” Yet another sigh; despair. “It’s why everyone sticks to Dutch so desperately... I guess in a way I ain’t no different. I clung to this idea for so goddamn long I can’t quite change either.”

He ran away once, with Sebastian and Isaac, but came back; the one thing Dutch did was to make them feel like family. Distancing himself from some strangers was no issue; running away from brothers was different though, _painful_. When John left he felt most betrayed; man had a son, a family, _a code,_ his brothers stooped too low and he ain’t truly forgiven that. But now, when they had to run, they had to for Hosea’s sake, before it got worse than it already was, that goddamn loyalty seems to have replaced brain cells.

“Maybe we’re all just needing time.” Sebastian said. “I think they’re grieving”

“What if we ain’t got time?” Some Pinkerton’s going to show up and mow the lot of them down or this fever might take him and he ain’t gonna see the end of it – or Isaac safe...

Isaac...

“We got some time now. Let’s enjoy this.”

“Yes...” And about that bath- “So, how’bout we go to the lake, have a swim?”

“Sure...” Isaac wasn’t convinced by the sudden change in tone and direction: “But you don’t think Dutch’ll just ditch us though?”

“I don’t know, son.”

“We’ll make it out of whatever’s thrown at us; it’s what the three of you’re been doing best!”

Hosea was gone; Dutch somewhere where he can’t find.

“Sometimes things change, Isaac!” He didn’t mean to sound as stern, “I changed, you changed, everyone else did too.” Tone mellows, apologetically. “We’ll find a way out; I promise you that. Just... don’t think about it too much.”

“I ain’t no kid no more, Pa!”

“I know.” He’s trying to keep his voice level. “This just ain’t something you should worry about, a’right?”

“But I could help more than just sitting around-”

“But you’ve always been helping around with chores and everything-”

“Pa! Am gonna be a man one day if I ain’t already.” Isaac’s stern and unmoving; this sickness of his changed the all and no words hit harder than the next. “And you ain’t gonna be there forever. I gotta take care o’myself and others. Gotta care for you too, Pa.”

Hand goes to cover his mouth; scratch his beard.

“How’d you like to help?” Sebastian intervenes when Arthur’s silent.

“Don’t know. But I can talk to folk. Tell’em again that there’s money and they can go live a better life.”

“You think you can do that, kid?” Arthur wants to trust him, really, it’s just that somehow, trying to come up with some better life for this poor child he forgot just how harsh this whole world was and how factually tiny he is as a man.

“I ain’t learned nothing from conmen, guess I just gotta try it.”

“A’right.” Arthur said, pursing his lips, then: “I trust you. To do the best you can.”

They end up riding north towards the Marshes; it’s a place undisturbed and, if you were weary of the alligators, pretty safe, all things considered. It was still too hot for his liking; the humid air made it all the worse – harder to breathe too. He held in those coughs, or, well, at least as best as he could. He still got the looks from the two of them.

They reached where train tracks drove just over a canal and set up a small campfire on the shore right near there, then put up a rack and duped all their clothes in the water to wash those first, with soap Arthur used to keep in his satchel just for such occasions. The lake was warm enough to fool you it’s soup – some dregs of a soup but soup nonetheless, and with all the mud they stirred up near the shore they soon moved deeper in to rinse their clothes and maybe they ain’t entirely clean but at least they won’t smell like camphor no more. They’re all buck naked at this point and he remembers how him and Isaac used to bathe under waterfalls when he was real young and they found themselves north of the Grizzlies, but still around the mountains. Those were fond memories back there.

For an extra round of washing Arthur used to rub soap harshly into the fabric until foam rose to the surface and use it as a sponge ‘cause like that he wasted up less than washing with the soap-bar itself. And they all quietly mind their own business, scrubbing their arms and backs and legs and asses. Isaac did all that so quick that now he was just swimming around, happy as a frog in a pool.

“Just mind the alligators there, Isaac.” Arthur teased, only to have his son stop, stare and have him draw a grin as Sebastian quickly realized that’s prime time for a joke, catching him with both arms from behind, just enough so he won’t fall.

Isaac spluttered into laugher: “Sure, Pa, gonna be all careful.”

“You better be!” He leans back into Sebastian, swinging just a bit from side to side just enough to lull him into a false sense of security- “Whoops-”

Arthur pretends to fall, dragging the other alongside him below the surface only for a second. It’s such a rare sight, seeing Sebastian smile ear to ear, laugh, enjoying himself in a way he rarely did-

He goes to kiss him, sucking that laughter out with the surprise. He hears Isaac’s splashing stop the longer they went, until the lack of a proper breath had him coughing. No hesitation from Sebastian, catching Arthur between his arms for support.

“Thank you-” he croaks when able to catch his breath again.

And he breaks way from the embrace, ‘cause as if struck by lightning, he had to do this now or else he fears he might never get the chance to. He might be half dead already, and it this was to be their last happy moment at least let it have this ending-

He runs as best as he can to his satchel.

“Arthur?”

“Are you okay, Pa?”

“Yeah, just fine!” Arthur reassures, no sarcasm this time. “I just had a thought. And I guess it’s the most foolish one I’ve had since I real long time.”

He’s naked and only half clean now, bending down on knee in mud once as he did once before for a girl he really loved. It ain’t proper, it ain’t nice, but it’d do just fine. Fingers tremble and it ain’t really a stretch to say that he had his lips stiffer than usual so they don’t quiver as he speaks:

“Mister Castellanos?...” he knew the rest; a thin ring with a small red jewel is held between his thumbs.

And it feels almost like all else stops, eyes are only onto him, those eyes, wide, brown, soulful and those lips now hanging loose and soft. The only sound he can register is the splashing of water as Sebastian makes his way towards the shore. Not a single word out of his mouth, instead a sprint, a tackle and face onto face, cupped by hands. It knocks the breath right out of him and the kiss that ensues takes all the air that was left, leaving him with nothing but a floating chest. Arms wrap around him, to have, to hold, ring buried in his fist.

“_Te amo..._” comes between the barely parted lips: “_Te amo_\- I love you. Arthur... Shit-” Foreheads press together as Sebastian tries to get both of them in a more dignified position. “I love you... I-Fuck-Arthur-”

Now he gets to have a mouthful out of the man, push him just a little backwards towards the water’s edge, arms around his waist to contain him. It’s all he has, but he reckons it’s better than nothing.

And the ring fits Sebastian’s gnarly finger well enough.

Micah was the first that returned out of the fellers that were with Dutch that night. He looked all ragged, unshaved and untethered. But everyone was awed in silence at it.

“Ain’t nobody gotta have a warm welcome for me after _all_ I’ve been through?” The man whined but everyone just kept staring.

“What you been through?” It’s Sadie that speaks up first, to break the silence; she had little connection to any one of them here. “We all thought you boys was dead.”

“Where are the others?” Arthur joins; things changed since they were gone. Isaac looks up at him as if he’s made a mistake, father only tugs him closer.

“On their way.” Micah says, flinging himself on a chair. “As for where we’ve been. Stranded on some tropical island, made slaves for a while, but we got out.” That victorious spread of arms as if he was welcomed, enjoyed or missed by any one of the people here.

“Get yourself some rest then.” Arthur advises. “And cleaned up, preferably.”

Micah hisses in a breath: “Well, ain’t you taken a leader role here, Morgan? Was you just waiting for Dutch to be gone.”

“Just get ye’rself cleaned.” Abigail, soon to be aided by Miss Grimshaw shooed the man off the chair.

That sure ain’t been a pleasant first contact, but friendlier faces come to greet them as well. Lenny and Javier were alive and together; Arthur greets them both with one warm hug, Isaac, Sebastian, Abigail and John, and Jack too, Charles and Kieran greeted from the sides as well. Poor Javier ended up with a shot leg that Mr. Strauss and Miss Grimshaw took to taking care of while Lenny told about their mishaps in detail; Micah, now well dressed, buzzed around embellishing the tale with his accomplishments.

And it’s already been noticed; the clear absence of most of the girls in camp. Isaac somehow convinced Miss Grimshaw to usher the girls to clear off: Tilly went away with a lot of money, mainly thanks to ol’ dear Susan having a sweet spot for her, Mary-Beth made sure to see Karen off safely and Kieran helped in no small part convinced the both of them to go. He ain’t sure he heard right but he thought Kieran and Mary-Beth promised to meet up towards the end of this week at Emerald Ranch. Meanwhile Sean met some outlaw woman just about near here and they talked a lot it seemed. He rarely got back to Lakay, then he comes talk to him telling him the woman’s Irish, Cassidy MacGuire, and had some sort of spark that reminded him of himself.

“I know I said I ain’t leaving and I know you said you wanted me gone, English.”

“That ain’t what it is, Sean.”

“I know, I know.” A sip from that bottle of whiskey he was holding in his hand. “Said it before, I ain’t meant for some quaint life.”

“You gonna leave with her then?”

“We got caught by some bounty-hunters near her shack the other day and she said she has to go. It’s odd ye’know. I had so much fun gunning those bastards down-” and that silly laughter, before he got grave again. “Outlaws for life...”

“Take care out there, Sean. And please take your share; you more than earned it, kid.”

“Thank you, Arthur. Really. Gonna miss all’o’you, all the fun times we had...”

And Sean was gone come morning.

Molly lingered around. No one seemed to care for that poor girl and how Dutch ran her into the ground. Isaac talked with her, Arthur talked with her; she wouldn’t seem to budge until they found her drinking just the other day in a bar just outside Saint Denis. Uncle brought her in all soaked and crying.

It took all three of their efforts to calm her down, but by the end she agreed to stay in a hotel in the city rather than in camp and they asked Trelawney to help her make her way into Saint Denis high society; he should be going too.

And they did.

And now Dutch came almost tumbling in, looking almost nothing like himself from how shrunken down, sun-dried and unkempt he seemed.

Everyone shot up in hollers: “Dutch-”

Night fell and the storm ain’t stopped.

“He’s back!” Everyone gathers round. “He’s back!”

“How’d you folks found each other? What happened?” he’s almost chuckling. That a thing Arthur found himself nostalgic about now that he thought of it. “Can-Can someone bring me a cup of coffee or something?” Dutch scans the room.

“It was Mr. Morgan, Mr. Castellanos and Mrs Adler who saved us, Dutch.” Strauss begins, as if his statements bore no weight. “After the Saint Denis robbery, they got us out before the Pinkertons turned up, moving us here. Then they rescued John before getting sent to Sisika and set out for Blackwater to collect our money.”

Dutch’s face grows dark: “You been... to Blackwater?”

Arthur steps in front, he can’t help that muffled cough: “Yes.”

“Why are there so few of us, Arthur?” The man picked up on it already.

“He’s been conspiring against you, Dutch.” Micah sprung up. “Ain’t I told you so-”

“We got Hosea back from the law.” Abigail interrupts before Isaac had time to say anything else, she gave a stern look at Micah. “Gave him a proper burial, it was real nice.”

But it don’t feel like that was about to quell Dutch’s new found anger-

“Well here you is!” Bill busts through the door like a buffoon late at a party. “Well I asked everyone I could find and eventually someone knew. Said you fools were out here.” He looks around. “Shit... Gimme a drink or something!”

But no one replied as he paced around paying no mind to the tension that was thick as cigar smoke in this room. Arthur muffles another cough.

“Are you okay there, Arthur?” Micah beckons. “You look a little sick there, my friend.”

“That ain’t no business of yours.” Isaac jumps, teeth barred.

“What the _Hell_ is going on here!” Bill roared.

“_This is Agent Milton with the Pinkerton Detective Agency!_” boomed from outside, cutting everything short and replacing it with dread. “_On behalf of Cornwall Kerosene and Tar, the United States Government and the Commonwealth of West Elizabeth, we are here to arrest you!_” Arthur got Isaac as far out of sight as possible, tugging him closer to himself, between the windows. “Give them to the count of five then give them everything. Actually...”

Bullets started raining and he dropped, son in his arms, to the floor. It was a furry and his thoughts have no time to collect as he clutches Isaac just so much as he can be a shield

“Sebastian-” he hears Sadie mutter as she crawls from the ensuing madness.

The man follows and he watches as he goes, wishing him luck so maybe they won’t die tonight. There was a trap-door in the other house, where Arthur used to be bedridden and he’s thinking that’s where they’re headed.

He loosens his hold and Isaac crawls to the side into the pantry and Arthur followed. The boy wanted to open the door and go outside but father dragged him back with force. Isaac was breathing loudly, huffing with his teeth clenched, in such visible anger he ain’t ever quite seen. He almost struggle against the restrain of his arm

“_Wait._” He whispers through clenched teeth. Sadie and Sebastian might be trying to flank them from the side and when they do they all come out and strike.

But they stop shooting: “Now I will show strength and you may mistake it for brutality!” Milton ranted on, but inside Arthur’s eats it’s all a buzz “There is no escape for any of you! I shall hunt you to the ends of the Earth and the ends of time!”

“This idiot is really starting to irritate me-” Arthur jumps up, kicks the door down and tries to get as many as he could focus on. His vision’s in a blur, red, and it’s almost as if time slowed for a second allowing him to aim more precisely. He headshots someone he thinks is Milton, but no that bastard hid beneath some crates. Isaac came out behind him, revolver in hand and with much better precision than Arthur’s seen of him the boy’s mowing down his targets, raining bullets on their legs then chest.

Sebastian and Sadie jumped out about the same time as them, hogging the attention of the Gatling gun. That man’s luckily quickly disposed off.

“We need to push them back!” Sadie hollers

The rest of the gang come out gun’s blazing.

“Isaac! Behind the crates.” He directs his son, rushing into cover in a desperate attempt to corral the Pinkertons towards the pathway, where they’d have to crowd to back off.

“_There’s more of them in the bayou!_” Isaac screams, turning his fire behind.

“Shit-” It’s all he manages as he stands up; the fire is relentless. He feels a cut: “AUGH!”

“PA!”

He’s starting to miss his targets. Teeth grit and for however sloppy that kill was, wasting 3 bullets, he finds the strength to shout back to Isaac:

“Keep focus!”

The next shot is cleaner: blew away that Pinkerton’s clavicle.

He hears the snap and boom of an oil lamp bursting into flames, then the scream of someone caught in the blast; Isaac shot it, ain’t he?

Sadie quickly comes backing them up, same as Bill; the both of them run off into the surrounding thicket: “Com’on!”

He’s getting real sloppy now: it takes him four whole round to the gut to finally be rid of him. Then he hears a yelp and realizes he lost track of Isaac watching Sadie go. Then a gunshot.

It’s too loud in his ears.

Before he turns to see, ‘cause heart stopped right there and he didn’t want to see, he hears the distinct heave of his son. Isaac pushed the body off of him. Arthur’s eyes dart back to the trees; focus fades back in for the time and he puts in another few clean kills, headshots both and by the time he’s done that Isaac’s back by his side.

There’s still 3 more in the trees. No, 5.

“There’s more of them!” Sadie shouts from the other side of the thicket.

“They’re coming down the main road! Arthur!” Dutch hollers himself.

And then a roar: “_GET DOWN!_” Sebastian.

That Gatling gun fires again, but it’s one of their own manning it now and soon enough, but feeling like an eternity later, the Pinkertons fall, and fall like leaves in autumn. Both of them are laying crouched on the ground and in his anger Isaac thought it’d be wise to shoot some other bastard’s feet. The rattling of the machine gun reverberates until it’s the only sound left, drowning out screams and moans and shouts and everything else.

Then silence came with the buzzing of disrupted eardrums.

Only now does he realize just how heavy it is to breathe again. A bout of coughs come through and Isaac rushes to pat his back.

“I’m fine-” Arthur reassures, putting a hand of his own on the boy’s shoulders, coaxing him to return to the gang.

Sebastian jumps down from that artillery, wasting no time to make his way to his family.

“You saved us...” Dutch admits through gritted teeth. “Sebastian, Arthur. Isaac.”

Arthur lets another cough escape him and if it ain’t been apparent before, it sure as hell is now.

“Are you sure everything’s alright, son?” Dutch croaks in that charismatic tone of voice.

For a moment there he’s afraid, real afraid that this ain’t the man he used to know. This is something Micah poisoned and deformed. Sure enough that _rat_ steps up behind him.

Dutch cocks an eyebrow at his lack of a prompt answer.

“Pneumonia.” Arthur admits stepping in front of both his husband and son; was that a last ditch effort to coax some sort of sympathy out a man who claimed to be his father?

And expression clearly mellows: “I’m... Sorry to hear that-”

“No doubt caught it on his journey, ain’t you, cowpoke?” Micah intervenes all of a sudden. “Ain’t we said, Dutch, there’s no way to get those money back from Blackwater? Man’s just paying for his sins.”

“That’s too low even for you, Micah-” Lenny can be heard beckoning. “Arthur clearly saved us all! And now that we got the money we can find a nice place.”

“I don’t think it’s that easy.” Javier said having barely just limped outside.

“One thing’s for sure.” Strauss continued. “We can’t stay in Lakay anymore.”

“Well that much is clear...” Dutch says as some form of reassurance but he doubts the rest of the gang can see just how confused that look on his face was. “We... We-I’ll think of something. Don’t y’all worry, we’re going to get out of this. We’re _all_ going to make it!”

But that silence that falls after his lil’ speech is heavy; they’re all disoriented. Except Micah, that man was anticipating something; Sebastian was watching him like he was a wolf.

“Did any of you boys... see Molly around?” Dutch mutters on his way back to the cabin.

“All the girls are gone, Dutch!” Micah beckons. “Except for Abigail here. But I think Arthur gave them money.” Isaac’s fist clenches. “Seems like all he’s wanted was to take your place, Dutch, and poison _your people_ against you-”

“That’s enough, Mr Bell.” Grimshaw ain’t about to be gentle on that crud, the cock of the gun was audible. Then she turned all sweet again: “Dutch, let’s get you some rest-”

“T-thank you, Susan.”

“I’ll get you some coffee.”

Isaac looked long at Micah, but Arthur held him steady. They should get cleaned up themselves.


End file.
